


Making Contact

by dgalerab



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Autistic Bokuto Koutarou, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10989696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dgalerab/pseuds/dgalerab
Summary: Bokuto Koutarou is only good at talking about one thing: volleyball. Akaashi Keiji is too harsh for most people's tastes.They meet in the middle somewhere.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At some point silvercistern and I were talking about how I tend to get really loud and talkative when talking about my special interests but am a verbal catastrophe otherwise and I said "WAIT THAT COULD BE BOKUTO" and here we are.
> 
> Thanks to silvercistern and fxvixen for reading this before I posted.

Contrary to… well, not popular belief, but maybe his own belief, Bokuto Koutarou always starts the school year in good spirits.

Every year is the year he will finally get it  _ right _ .

He has all his notebooks labeled, all his clothes folded, his tie is even tied right. He’s going to talk to people without embarrassing himself this year, he’s gonna make friends that actually know they’re his friends, he’s going to keep up with his classes…

He’s excited about it all, but he’s most excited about morning practice. Of course, they’ve had training camps during the breaks, but it’s different when it’s  _ practice _ practice, and they’re getting new first years today and…

He stumbles onto the train, where he finds his first hiccup of the day. There’s someone else wearing a Fukurodani uniform only a few seats over.

Sure, Koutarou had planned for people today, but not so  _ soon _ . Not  _ before _ volleyball, reminding him he knew how to do words and things.

Is he even expected to say hi to a stranger just because they go to the same school? Wait, Koutarou’s never seen them, so they must be a first year, so they should probably introduce  _ themselves _ , right? Koutarou has never quite understood the kouhai-senpai dynamic well enough for this sort of question.

He chances a look at the stranger.

Ah. This is, in fact, the worst case scenario.

They are pretty. Very pretty. And grumpy looking. Probably not a smiler. Koutarou is good at identifying smilers, because people who are not smilers are terrifying and he tries to avoid them.

And now he’s stuck on the train with one of them.

The stranger looks at him, and he looks away quickly. Hopefully quick enough that the guy thinks he didn’t notice him. Maybe if he fiddles with his phone, he’ll seem too distracted to notice and if they’re supposed to talk the pretty stranger will have to start and then Koutarou will have to…

Have to respond.

Oh gods.

What does he respond? How to people introduce themselves?  _ I noticed you were wearing the same uniform as me _ , they’ll say, maybe, and he can say  _ Yeah I am _ but then will it seem enough like he was distracted? Maybe he has to say it more surprised like  _ oh yeah I guess I am _ . No, that’s a lot of syllables, there’s no way he’ll get through that sentence without stuttering. Maybe just  _ oh yeah _ , but really surprised.

Hell, what if the guy just introduces himself? Koutarou will have to get through his  _ whole name _ all in one go and that’s… so many syllables. He’s not even sure how many syllables because his brain isn’t good with syllables but it’s a lot of seconds too and…

He tries to test it out but he can’t think his name and count at once. He tries whispering it to himself but it doesn’t work any better and now probably the pretty guy has seen him whispering to himself… Maybe he’ll think he’s mouthing the lyrics to the song he’s listening to. Yeah, that’s reasonable.

Hell, wait, he still doesn’t know how many seconds it takes to say his name and whether he’ll get through it before his brain shuts him down. He’s said his own name multiple times, surely it’s possible.

He feels queasy and his teeth are clenched way too hard and… and  _ this  _ is why he needs volleyball  _ before _ talking to people, dammit.

_ Bokuto Koutarou. Bokuto Koutarou. _ He can say this.

_ Wait _ , he realizes.  _ I have to say I’m before my name, right? Does it sound weird if I don’t? _

At this point, no words sound right, so there’s really no way to tell.

He’s so absorbed in his preparation that he doesn’t notice the train slowing or the doors opening. There’s a hand on his shoulder. “Are you getting off here?” the pretty guy asks. “It’s the right stop for our school.”

For once, his throat clenching up in a panic is a welcome event, because at least he doesn’t just blurt  _ Bokuto Koutarou _ into this very attractive first year’s face. He nods, and they manage to get off just before the doors close.

“I apologize,” the guy says, while Koutarou tries to wrap his earphones around his neck. “You seemed distracted, I thought I’d ask.” He extends a hand. “I should have introduced myself beforehand. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

Koutarou takes the offered hand with a smile. “Bo…” He thinks he manages to swallow before it’s too noticeable. “Bokuto Koutarou.”

Akaashi drops his hand, without a flicker of a smile in return. Koutarou’s suspicions were correct, which is unfortunate, because without smiles, Koutarou has no idea when someone is upset with him. At the very least, he can be  _ fairly _ sure this guy doesn’t think he’s a doofus just yet.

“Where are you headed? If you’re here this early I assume you’re heading to practice of some kind.”

“Volleyball,” Koutarou manages.

“Ah,” Akaashi says, adjusting his bag on his shoulder so it’s more comfortable. “Me too.”

_ Oh, thank fuck _ , Koutarou thinks. “Me too! What position do you play? I’m the ace!” He cringes inwardly. It was almost certainly  _ way _ too early to mention that but it’s new and exciting and everyone else he could tell has heard it so many times they’re tired of it.

“Setter,” Akaashi says.

“Ohhh, cool,” Koutarou says.  _ Talk about him this time, not yourself _ . “Setters are really cool. I don’t have the concentration for it. Or game sense. Or something. Anyway I’m bad at setting. So I think good setters are really cool!”

And there goes the idea of looking like less of an idiot for once. He’s not even sure that counts as not talking about himself, either, and he definitely said the same thing twice and Akaashi still isn’t giving him even a little bit of a smile so Koutarou can’t even rest easy knowing he’s a likeable idiot at the very least.

“You don’t know if I’m a good setter or not,” Akaashi says, watching him carefully.

“Well,” Koutarou says. That’s true, and he curses the fact that he’d brought it up. Mostly he’d just been trying to shift the praise from himself and onto Akaashi, since apparently praising yourself was annoying even if you were  _ really really proud of it _ . “I’m sure you’re good!”

Akaashi just hums, fiddling with his fingers.

Why is the school so far away from the train station?

“So you’re the ace,” Akaashi says, after several grueling moments of silence. “You must be good to be the ace of a powerhouse.”

Is it annoying to praise yourself when you’re invited to do so? “Yeah,” he says, in a desperate attempt to be at least sort of humble. “I guess.”

Akaashi’s eyebrows raise just a little. Is that… an invitation to go on? Gods, Koutarou wants to get at least a _ week  _ into the school year this time before getting on someone’s nerves for being repetitive and self obsessed.

But in his defense he’s been trying  _ really hard _ not to tell his parents all about his accomplishments every single second for like…  _ a month _ . Or at least… a week. Definitely a week. And it’s not like Akaashi has heard him go on about this. He can’t be annoying the  _ first time _ , right? Right?

“I’m great,” he says. “Oh man, Akaashi, you missed out on the coolest game last year, it was  _ great _ . I did this super good cutshot it was like… like… the ball came from alllll the way across the court and there were like… like five… three blockers on me and they were soooo tall and I just…” He mimes the cutshot and points towards the angle it had flown in. “It was soooo great, Agha… Akaashi and… Wow.”

Wait that sounds really arrogant. He tries to back up. “I worked really hard at it, you know, that’s why I like to tell people. Because I practiced. Like all the time. I bet if you practiced that much you could do it too. Not that I think you’re lazy. Or um…”

“I’m sure it was spectacular,” Akaashi says. He’s still not smiling, but he wouldn’t encourage Koutarou if he was annoyed, right? Maybe he’s just being polite.

_ Shit shit shit _ it’s only been five minutes and already Koutarou is babbling and he hadn’t even asked Akaashi what kind of setter he is and he’s the  _ worst _ oh gods. “So are you… good? Sorry, I forgot to ask.”

Akaashi shrugs. “I suppose I’m good, but there are plenty of setters like me, Bokuto-san.”

_ Shiiiiiiiit _ . Was that how Koutarou should have responded? Technically, there aren’t plenty of people who could have done a cutshot like that but you’re not supposed to  _ admit _ things like that. And should he have added –kun? If he adds it now is it too obvious he’s trying to copy Akaashi?  _ Shit,  _ Koutarou is so  _ bad _ at this.

There’s silence for another long, long time.

“So you’re good at cutshots?” Akaashi asks, after a long while.

“Uh… yeah. I guess,” Koutarou mutters. “I bet someone else could have done it, though.”

Akaashi hums. “They take a lot of practice,” he says. “As you mentioned.”

Dammit, that sounds like an invitation  _ again _ . “Yeah,” he says.

“And flexibility,” Akaashi says.

“Oh, uh… yeah. I can… uh… look.” Koutarou slings his arm around his head from behind and grins.

“Impressive.” Still no smile. Is he being polite? He seems polite.

Koutarou drops his arm. “So,” he says. “Um…” What do people ask each other? “S-school?”

Akaashi just looks at him. At least the gym is in sight now.

“What school did you go to? Before?” He’s still not sure what he’s doing wrong but  _ something _ feels wrong. “Before now?” Now it sounds weirder.

“ Hiromasa ,” Akaashi says. “It’s just a small school near my house. It’s nothing special.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says. “I go here. I mean I’m a second year s-so I went here… last year.”

“So I gathered,” Akaashi replies.

Koutarou points at the gym desperately. “This… gym. Our gym. It’s a gym.” He wants to crawl into a hole and never be allowed to speak again.

“I gathered that too,” Akaashi says. There’s still no smile, but Koutarou is almost certain he sees a glimmer of amusement. Surely that’s a start.

Well. There goes his chance at not being an idiot this year. It’s pointless anyway. Everyone else on the team already knows he’s a pain. He’ll just have to return to the tried and true method of being a lovable, funny pain.

Right after he stuffs his head into a locker.

-X-

The rest of practice is, as usual, good. Which is not to say that he doesn’t end up saying stupid things, because at some point Konoha tells him good job before he’s realized he just spiked out of bounds and Koutarou, of course, laughs and gets flattered before the realization hits. But practice is fun and he’s at least 80% sure everyone here likes him even though he’s constantly shoving his foot in his mouth.

_ And _ Akaashi sets for him, and they’re good sets. Excellent sets.

Of course that’s sort of nerve-wracking because now he’s  _ gotta _ be friends with Akaashi, but then again, as long as they’re only talking over volleyball, Koutarou is  _ good _ at making friends. Sure, he stumbles all over himself here too, but he knows how to handle that. (The shame doesn’t go away but it’s easily hidden.)

It’s only all the  _ other _ topics that get him.

Which is how Koutarou ends up standing in front of his locker way too long after practice, tie in hand. Usually there’s nothing to jolt him out of the idea that he’ll manage to be less of a wreck this year even before the  _ very first morning practice _ , and even then he usually is a ball of nerves by the time it gets to walking across the small stretch of hallway to his first class.

No one notices him staring apprehensively at the tie. The benefit of not knowing how to shut up or be quiet during practice when he’s so overwhelmed by doing something he’s  _ good _ at and has  _ fun _ with is that no one really notices when he finally stops talking.

There’s a small clearing of someone’s throat and Koutarou almost jumps.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, and he pauses when he sees the way Koutarou’s holding the tie. “Something wrong with your tie?”

“No,” Koutarou says, and pulls it over his head quickly. He tries his best to even it out.

“I was just wondering if you’d help me find my class,” he says. “It’s been quite a while since I was new at a school.”

“You uh…” Koutarou says, scrambling to grab his bag and close the locker. It takes a few tries, because of course his locker is a broken locker. “Nervous?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Akaashi says.

“Uh,” Koutarou says. “You know… other…” He loses track of the sentence before he can finish it and in his hurry to say something he blurts, “third years,” which only ends up forcing him into more damage control, “I mean the third years. The third years wouldn’t mind showing you around. They’re cool.”

“I’m sure,” Akaashi says. “But I’d rather you did. If that’s not too forward of me.”

“Ngh,” Koutarou starts before his throat clenches in the middle of the  _ single _ word he’d been trying to get out. “No,” he tries again.

Akaashi’s eyes narrow a little, and he seems to be waiting expectantly.

“Oh,” Koutarou says. “Right. Clessrooms. Classrooms. First year…” He points and starts walking.

They walk in silence this time, until they get to 1-6. Now that they’re in the hallway, Koutarou almost feels like a different person. Schooltime Koutarou, instead of volleyball Koutarou. Volleyball Koutarou talks too much but barely stutters but says dumb shit all the time but is fun.

Schooltime Koutarou does most things wrong. Except for talking too much. That’s not a problem schooltime Koutarou has.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, when Koutarou gestures weakly at his classroom. “I’ll see you at practice later?”

Koutarou nods. “Bye,” he says, and hurries away before he can get any more nervous about his day.

He counts his breaths as he goes, clenching and unclenching his fists.

He slips into his own classroom. There’s a group of four people sitting in the corner by his seat. Nakata Takiji, Yada Shinji, Teshima Hitoshi, and Go Uta. For lack of a better term, Koutarou would call them his friends. Mostly, he watches them talk.

None of them like volleyball.

Sometimes Koutarou wishes he had class with the other guys on the team. Other times he’s glad they don’t know how bad Koutarou really is at talking. They probably talk about other things during class too.

Everyone is talking about what they’d done over the break. They smile and say hello when they notice him on the periphery, and Koutarou does his best to follow, but given that he started in the middle of the conversation, he has no idea what is going on.

“How about you, Kouta-kun?” Uta asks, in a small lull in the conversation. Uta is a sweet girl. She always tries the hardest to get Koutarou involved.

“Oh, uh, practice camp,” he says. The others pause, waiting for him to continue. He always has a bigger window on the first day. He launches into an account of the most enjoyable parts of camp. Things he knows he can get a laugh with. The others are all smilers. That’s why he likes them, because he knows what they like.

Unfortunately he also knows when he’s been talking to long about the same few moments of a good game, because their smiles are halfhearted and Shinji is checking his phone. And just like that, the momentum he’d gotten up by talking about how awesome Nekoma’s middle blocker’s receives are is gone, and he fades into stutters and then loses track of what he was saying at all.

The conversation moves on without him, though he does manage to get in a few coherent sentences.

All in all, though, he thinks he rounded things off before he got weird. Maybe. Hopefully.

Fortunately, math is the first class.

This is good because Koutarou doesn’t have to pay attention in math class, because generally with homework and a book he can figure it out anyway. He’ll do his math homework during English, maybe.

English is a tossup, generally. He’s learned a lot of English from shows and movies, but his grasp of grammar is catastrophic. He can usually fake it, so long as he doesn’t have to put too much thought into it, and oddly enough he’s fairly good with the verbal part of it, since no one really  _ expects _ him to talk fluidly in English, so he can stutter and mumble all he wants.

Japanese is the real problem.

They had assigned reading over the break. Koutarou had read it, of course, but he can’t say he comprehended any of it. Most of their readings were classics, and as far as Koutarou could tell, the only thing that made something a classic was the tendency to not say anything at all but make it sound like you were saying a lot.

Or maybe everyone else knew what they were saying in very confusing ways and Koutarou was just an idiot.

It was probably the second one.

It doesn’t help that Koutarou can never pay attention in class. Maybe he’ll try this year. Maybe if he focuses really hard.

He looks up at the board, which is filled with equations. He lets his eyes rove over the first few steps. They’re easy enough to follow. The teacher talking is distracting, though.

Well, alright, maybe it’s better to start paying attention in Japanese. There’s no way he can understand math  _ and _ make sense of words at once. It’ll be easier to figure it out from the book at the beginning of English.

To his credit, he really does try to pay attention in Japanese.

He manages to listen for at least twenty minutes, sentence by sentence, before he realizes he’s been concentrating so much on squeezing some meaning out of all the sentence bits he knows got into his head that he has no idea what the teacher is talking about. He’s no closer to understanding the odd, flowery speech of the assigned reading than before.

He thinks he remembers hearing the word juxtaposition at some point, and he’s  _ almost _ sure what scene it’s referring to.

Now, though, he’s missed  _ several _ sentences and he’s entirely lost.

He leans forward and tries to pick it back up. Before he notices, he’s got the tip of his tie in his mouth, nibbling at it. Thank gods he sits in the back of the classroom and hardly anyone can see him. He spits it out, trying to shift so he’s a little more comfortable.

His tie is crooked and he’s just noticed. He tries to fix it, gives up, then stares at the teacher again, hoping to pick up the flow of the class again.

Watching the teacher’s lips helps a little, but the problem remains that while he’s paying attention to each and every word, they seem to be drifting apart, too far from each other to form an understandable thought and sometimes they’re not even words and Koutarou’s tie is too uneven to be fixed anymore and now it’s loose too and the seats are uncomfortable and…

He hates this class and he’s going to fail again. He opens his math textbook to the problem section and starts on his math homework.

And then, because the mechanical process of solving problem after problem with the same few formulas has finally gotten his attention away from how the back of his chair is slightly uneven and one of his knees is always slightly more tense than the other, he does the rest of the section too.

And then the rest of the chapter, all the way through English.

During lunch the rest of his friends all find their much closer friends in other classes, and Koutarou ends up, as usual, in the hallway beside the art room, eating alone.

No one comes here during lunch. The paintings are quiet and peaceful and it’s Koutarou’s one real break during school. And best of all no one looks funny at Koutarou for picking his food apart into all the separate ingredients and eating them all one by one.

Class after lunch is miserable. Koutarou always feels worst right after eating and that makes it just impossible to pay attention. There’s no way to pay attention when he’s suddenly unable to think about anything but how Akaashi Keiji probably thinks he’s an idiot and Koutarou hasn’t even gotten to figure out what his favorite color is. He keeps playing their few, few conversations over and over in his head, trying to figure out where exactly he could have fixed it if he wasn’t terrible at everything.

It’s the loops that get to him. It’s when he gets stuck in the same thought over and over that it wears him down and makes everything feel droopy and gross.

But next is practice, and Koutarou will have something to talk about, and that will be great.

He says goodbye to his friends with a smile (it’s sort of shitty to smile when he still feels sad, but he’s an impulsive smiler) and hurries to practice.

Akaashi is the only one there before him, already lacing up his shoes.

“S-so-o fa…” Koutarou manages, and then stops. And that’s it. His brain doesn’t seem up for another try.

“Fast?” Akaashi offers.

Koutarou nods.

“Class let out slightly early,” he says, and he doesn’t seem fazed by Koutarou’s unexpected silence. “How about you?”

“Run,” Koutarou says. Second tries are still not in his arsenal at the moment, it seems. He wants to bang his head into his locker a million times. He’s usually better at this at practice, since he only ever has to talk about volleyball.

Akaashi just makes him a little nervous, it seems. Or a lot nervous.

Akaashi still doesn’t react. He just makes a small noise of acknowledgement. “Get dressed and I’ll set for you.”

Koutarou nods silently and gets dressed.

They manage to get several sets in before the rest of the team gets there.

“Careful,” one of the third years, Ogino Eiichi chuckles. “He’ll go all night if you let him. He might be your senpai, but you can tell him no.”

Koutarou glances at Akaashi, who looks annoyed. Though maybe that’s just the way his bushy eyebrows always look really severe. “I can assure you I am perfectly capable of saying no, Ogino-san.”

“Alright, alright,” Ogino says. “I just wanted to warn my little kouhai.”

It’s kind of funny to hear him say so, since Akaashi is both more terrifying and several centimeters taller. Akaashi doesn’t point this out. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary, Ogino-san,” he says.

Ogino shrugs, and practice starts.

And afterwards, Akaashi watches Koutarou carefully. “Would you like to stay and practice more?” he asks.

“Yeah!” Koutarou cries, still caught up in the excitement of their games. He remembers Ogino’s warning. “Oh, unless you don’t wanna.”

“I don’t mind,” Akaashi says. “I could use some practice anyway, if I’m going to keep up with the rest of the team.”

“No!” Koutarou says. “You’re really good!”

“I’m slightly higher than average, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. “The rest of the team is  _ very _ good, and you are excellent.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says. No one ever  _ says _ it, no matter  _ how _ much they see him work at it. “Oh! I am, aren’t I?”

Akaashi seems vaguely amused by the question. “That’s why I said it, Bokuto-san.”

Of course, he’s so fired up by the praise that his very next spike hits the wall across the gym.

“Well,” he says. He looks at Akaashi. Maybe it’s milking his status as a second year, but he kind of wants to hear more praise anyway. Even if he doesn’t deserve it at all right now. “My form was good, right?”

Akaashi looks him in the eyes. “Your aim was lousy,” he says.

Koutarou gawks at him. Akaashi hands him another ball. “I thought you were  _ polite _ ,” Koutarou says.

“I am,” Akaashi says. “And honest. Give me a spike worthy of your talent and then I’ll compliment your form.”

For a moment, Koutarou isn’t sure if he wants to be upset or not. On one hand, this feels like a cruel tactic, dangling praise in front of him as a motivational tool. On the other hand, it means that Akaashi will tell him when he’s fucking up.

“Was that too harsh?” Akaashi asks when Koutarou just stares at him for far too long. “I’m told my demeanor is… frustrating. Feel free to tell me off, if you need to.”

Koutarou takes the ball instead of answering. “No,” he says. “Actually I’m kinda glad.” He grins. “When this spike ends up amazing, you gotta tell me, though.”

Akaashi’s face is kind of hard to read, since he seems permanently stuck in either apathy or a glare of some kind, but Koutarou is pretty sure it’s really expressive if you know where to look. Right now, he’s pretty sure Akaashi looks relieved.

“Of course, Bokuto-san,” he says, with just the tiniest, tiniest hint of a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite kind of Akaashi is one who's just a dorky teenager with a mean sense of humor.

Contrary to very much popular belief, Akaashi Keiji is not a robot.

Akaashi Keiji is a lot of things. He’s the son of a very busy single mother. He was the son of a very stern, studious father, until tragedy struck. He’s inquisitive, self-sufficient, meticulous. He likes to keep his thoughts and feelings close to his chest but he likes to be forward about his relevant opinions.

He’s certainly not unfeeling, nor, it seems, unsusceptible to impractical and unreasonable crushes.

Technically, there’s no reason to call it a crush just yet, but Keiji tries to be as honest as possible about things. This may very well be fascination at the moment, since Bokuto Koutarou is a puzzle and a half, but it’s a puzzle he’d very much like to befriend and possibly hold hands with.

This is not usually an issue.

He’s attractive, intelligent, good at sports. People generally befriend him first, while Keiji plays it safe and carefully measures how close he’d like them to get, how much he’d like to divulge about himself. This is generally sufficient.

It won’t suffice with Bokuto. Keiji wants to be friends with him, and given Bokuto’s halting and confusing approaches to interaction, Keiji cannot assume that Bokuto will do it for him.

The extra practice was a good start. They’d taken the train together and Bokuto hadn’t seemed as flighty as before. He’d spent a good five minutes into the train ride trying to eye Keiji without Keiji noticing, but eventually had given up and started looking out the window.

Keiji has several hypotheses.

  1. Bokuto is shy.



It seems the most reasonable explanation. Bokuto’s raucous nature on the court could easily be explained by being more comfortable with his teammates. But he’d grown quiet and nervous again when they’d entered the school, even though he certainly knows his classmates as well as his teammates.

  1. There is something about Keiji specifically that throws him off



Perhaps he’s nervous about befriending a kouhai. Of course, that doesn’t explain the extra practice. They’d spent several hours together with Bokuto loud and clearly thoroughly enjoying himself.

  1. He’s more comfortable on the court and the court alone



This seems the only hypothesis left, though it doesn’t bring Keiji much closer to understanding.

The train comes to a stop and Bokuto whirls around. “St…” He stops. “Ste… Bye.” He’s difficult to hear, which is fundamentally bizarre now that Keiji’s seen him in the middle of practice, shouting everything loud enough to blow someone’s ear out.

“See you tomorrow, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says, but Bokuto’s already long gone.

His house is two stops further and another five minute walk. Keiji is starting to regret the extra practice. He can feel it in his thighs already.

He pushes in the gate and trudges up the stairs to their front door.

The moment he’s inside and taking off his shoes, he can hear skittering along the floor, and before he knows it, his dog is planted halfway in his lap, likely having grossly overestimated the distance between them. His pants are somehow already covered in drool.

“Hello, you unholy creation,” he says.

The pug looks up at him. Though its earlier mistake was probably due to the fact that the pug is deeply and tragically stupid, it may also be thanks to lack of depth perception, as it is, in fact, blind in one eye.

He pushes it away with one hand as he tries to take his shoes off with the other, and it slobbers all over his hand.

He stands up once he’s gotten his shoes off and starts into the kitchen. The pug just stares at the air where his hand had been, head crooked and tongue dripping onto the floor.

“I’m right here, you utter moron,” Keiji says, softly.

The pug, responding purely to his loving tone, joyously leaps from its place, smacking into the shoe shelf in an effort to make a U-turn and follow Keiji. Its panting and wheezing is twice as jovial as usual.

“Your existence is a travesty,” Keiji says, with a soft cooing noise, as he pulls the bag of dog treats out of the cabinet. He gives the pug a treat and pats it on the head.  He pulls together a close approximation of baby talk and adds, “Isn’t it?”

The pug seems delighted by its continued, miserable existence. Keiji lifts it and kisses it on the head, getting a face full of dog drool in return.

He puts the dog down and opens the refrigerator, pulling out the ingredients for his own dinner. “You know,” he informs his dog, who has seemingly startled itself into flopping over onto its back. “I have had an interesting day.”

The pug grunts as its legs pedal helplessly to get it upright again.

“I hereby inform you, my most trustworthy companion, that I intend to be forming a crush in the near future.”

The pug finally manages to squirm onto its stomach.

Keiji takes a bite from the carrot he’d just peeled as he watches. “I’d also like to inform you that you are only my most trustworthy companion because you are too stupid to betray me.” The pug watches him expectantly, so he bends down and says, as cutesy as he can manage. “Yes you arrrrrrrrrrre.”

The pug does a somersault with joy, and Keiji goes back to making dinner.

He does his homework while the food cools.

His mother staggers into the house a few minutes after he’s finished his last problem. “Oh,” she says, dropping her keys on the counter. “Something smells lovely.”

“It’s not the pug,” Keiji says, because the pug is currently soaking his socks in drool.

“Are you ever going to name that thing?” his mother sighs, inspecting the food. “You’ve had it for years now.”

“You said I couldn’t name it unholy creation,” Keiji says, packing up his books.

“Stop verbally abusing the dog with that straight face,” his mother says, sighing. “You sound like a sociopath.”

Keiji looks up. “How do you know I’m not?” he asks, very seriously.

She flicks a grain of rice at him. “How was your day, you raging sociopath?”

“I’m going to have a crush soon,” Keiji informs her.

“Really.” She raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Did you schedule it?”

“Yes.” He stands to set the table. “Precisely 478 hours and 14 minutes from now I will clutch my chest, fall to my knees and cry, ‘What is this strange feeling! Could it be… love!’”

“You’ll have to emote a bit more than that.”

He makes his face go even flatter. “I’m saving it.”

“So what’s this future crush like, huh?”

“Peculiar,” Keiji says, dishing out his food. He ignores his mother’s scandalized look when he takes an especially large helping.

“You make him sound like a subject of study,” she says.

“Yes,” Keiji says. “I am hereby opening an investigation. I’ll spend my time tonight journaling the observations I’ve made so far. The desired result is understanding and, if possible, makeouts.”

“Oh, makeouts, huh?”

Keiji stares down at his plate. “Mm,” he says. “He has very earnest eyes.” He thinks about it. “And nice biceps.”

“I can never tell if you’re joking.”

He looks up at her and petulantly shoves a rice ball into his mouth.

-X-

The next morning he has a new notebook in his backpack. So far there’s only one page of notes. He’d had to tear out several pages from the start. He’d asked his pug for some advice on how much emotional detachment was permissible before keeping a journal about a teammate was considered a terrible thing to do, but his pug had only ripped a hole in one of his socks in response.

He’d ended up starting the notebook in the middle of the book. He would, at some point, find something to put on the first few pages that would throw anyone in possession of the notebook off. This is the most precaution he’s ever taken to hide his clinical approach to friendship.

Wanting someone to like you is apparently very tedious.

His legs ache like his muscles have been peeled off and wrapped around his bones a few times, but when he sees Bokuto get on the train he can’t muster a lot of regret.

Bokuto, of course, decides to stand by the door, holding on to one of the overhead grips. He’s a little taller than Keiji, which is rare, and a great deal bulkier.

Keiji gets up, though his legs protest, and stands beside him. “Good morning, Bokuto-san,” he says.

Bokuto snatches his earphones out and wraps them around his neck. “Good morng,” he says, sentence trailing into inaudibility halfway through.

Keiji can’t tell if he’s phased or not by the constant failures to speak. The stammering and misspeaking _feels_ like it must be from nerves, especially since it abates when Bokuto is in his element, but Bokuto always looks about half a moment from a smile, even off the court.

He’s _fascinating._

And, on a less intellectual level, very attractive, too. This is the first time Keiji has been this close without walking beside Koutarou or playing with him, so he has a moment to appreciate the smaller details about Koutarou: the freckles on his upturned nose, the flecks of darker gold in his eyes, the fact that his eyes are a little lopsided.

Keiji would estimate that he has at least 70% of a crush already.

Minutes crawl by, but Bokuto doesn’t say anything, staring at the floor.

Keiji hasn’t started a conversation just because since he was ten. What is it people like? “Do you like movies?” he asks. Keiji doesn’t particularly like movies, but he seems to be in quite the minority.

Bokuto looks at him like he’s said something odd, but he nods.

“What kind?” he asks.

Bokuto takes a moment to think, wild eyebrows furrowing. “Superhero mo-ovies, I guess,” he says.

“Ah,” Keiji says, mulling it over. Perhaps he should have steered the conversation to a topic that he actually enjoyed, rather than something he thought would do well. Changing topics now, however, would make his probing too obvious. “Which one is your favorite?”

“Maybe Captain… Cap,” Bokuto says thoughtfully.

Well, that’s not much to work with.

“Yuh… you?” Koutarou says.

Hell.

Keiji doesn’t like disclosing very much information about himself. It usually leads to people trying to badger him with even more questions. But if he is trying to learn more about Koutarou, he supposes it should be at least a little reciprocal. “I don’t actually like movies,” he says.

Bokuto blinks at him, then looks away, then blinks at him again. “Huh?” he says finally.

“They’re too short to expand upon a concept sufficiently but too long to focus on a few good elements,” Keiji explains.

Bokuto’s brow furrows, eyes flickering between Keiji and the ceiling. “Nn,” Bokuto manages, then frowns, hand on his chin, seemingly deep in thought.

“I don’t mean to offend,” Keiji offers.

“Well,” Bokuto says slowly. “I guess I see what you mean but… movies.”

“What about them?”

“They’re good,” Bokuto says, and then after a little longer. “You don’t gotta put a lot of thought into them, they’re just there to be fun.”

“Putting a lot of thought into things is how I have fun,” Keiji tells him. He’s suddenly a little too aware of how that might sound pretentious. He does not have enough of a crush, it seems, to try to sound less pretentious.

“Aw man,” Bokuto says. “I don’t think my brain works well en… enough for that.”

Keiji opens his mouth, but he can’t say anything to that, so he closes it again, and the rest of their way to the gym passes in silence.

As usual, the moment Bokuto is on the court, he lights up. Now that Keiji is watching for it, he can see that though Bokuto is loud and doesn’t stutter on the court, he does seem to mispronounce things every so often. Subtle jokes seem to go over his head. Every so often someone, especially the third years, will whisper something behind his back, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

Practice goes by too quickly to figure out anything new, but it leaves him with even more of a need to reconcile the Bokuto who bounds around the court screaming “Hey hey hey!” with the Bokuto on the train who is to quiet to finish his sentences.

Afterwards, Bokuto walks him to his class again and waves as he takes off to his own classes.

Keiji spends all of class scrawling down his latest observations.

He circles “likes superhero movies” and tries to pay attention to his last class before lunch.

He’s still too new to this school to know who to eat lunch with. Keiji doesn’t mind eating his lunch alone. He likes the quiet.

Still, he doesn’t particularly mind it when Konoha finds him in the hallway looking for a comfortable place to sit. Konoha gives him a dramatic gasp. “Our kouhai? Eating alone? Not a chance.”

“I enjoy the silence,” Keiji informs him, but that doesn’t faze Konoha.

He solves the matter of finding a place to eat by dragging Keiji into a small deserted corner by the stairs where Komi and Sarukui are throwing a plastic bottle back and forth. The soda inside looks ready to explode. “I brought our most precious kouhai!” Konoha declares, shoving him forward. “He was eating alone, can you imagine?”

“Yes,” Sarukui says. “He probably wanted the quiet.”

“Bah,” Konoha says. “He was lonely and we, as senpai, must take care of him!”

“Take care of your big head first,” Komi says.

“Oi!”

“It’s fine,” Keiji says, putting down his bag. “I didn’t mind eating alone but I appreciate the invitation.”

He sits down, looking around. “Where’s Bokuto-san?”

“He doesn’t eat with us,” Komi says. “He and Washio are in different classes, so I guess they eat with their classmates.”

“You don’t have to worry about him disturbing your quiet,” Konoha laughs, leaning back. Komi’s bottle hits him square in the face and Keiji barely has the time to pull his bento out of the way before Konoha is diving into Komi, the two of them wrestling and screaming at each other.

Keiji does not try to point out the irony in the situation, instead he finds himself balancing disappointment over the fact that Bokuto won’t be here and pride over the fact that he seems to be the only one on the team who has noticed Bokuto’s multifaceted nature.

After all only thing more appealing than understanding is being the best at it.

-X-

After yet another grueling round of extra practice, evening finds Keiji folding laundry while his laptop is perched on the drier, playing a pirated copy of Iron Man.

“Keiji, I’m home!” his mother calls, with her head already poked around the corner.

He has a sheet corner in both hands, which makes it impossible for him to slam the laptop shut before she sees.

“Are you watching a movie?” she asks, blinking.

“How much for your silence,” he blurts.

“Give the dog a real name,” she replies, smoothly.

“Never.”

“Then I’m afraid my entire office will be finding out tomorrow that I have a real human son instead of a sarcastic, overly analytical gremlin.”

“This is blackmail.”

“It sure is,” she replies, with a crook of the eyebrow. “What’s for dinner?”

-X-

It takes Keiji three weeks to get through all the Marvel movies he can find, with all the work around the house and all the homework he has to work harder on because he’s spend most of his time in class making detailed notes about the team’s strategies, strengths and weaknesses. Possibly the only class he’s actually participating in is Japanese. He’s always had a soft spot for literature.

And, of course, he’s made extra details notes about Bokuto. So far he has learned the following things about Bokuto:

  1. His favorite flowers are sunflowers
  2. His favorite food is yakiniku
  3. He loves TV shows, especially ones with fantasy or sci-fi elements
  4. He may be good at math
  5. He’s desperate for praise
  6. He loves dogs
  7. He keeps forgetting his own favorite color
  8. He has a very nice smile and is not at all shy about showing it
  9. He has, in fact, several smiles and all enchanting. Keiji needs to catalogue them
  10. He likes being asked things, but his answers are most fluid when talking about volleyball, but he relies heavily on physical demonstrations and typical expressions.
  11. In fact, there’s a certain repetitive nature to everything he says during practice, like practiced phrases he can build onto.
  12. The longer he talks about something he likes, the louder he gets



The longer they talk, the better Keiji gets at asking things that will start Bokuto talking.

“I watched all the Marvel movies,” Keiji says, at some point, on the train. The muscle aches are bothering him less and less.

“Really?” Bokuto says, eyes lighting up. “Did you like them?”

“They were entertaining,” Keiji says. “But standard.”

Bokuto frowns. “Oh,” he says. “Prob’ly.”

Keiji feels oddly like he’s messed up. He does try to keep from hurting people’s feelings. He’s honest and a smartass, not cruel. But with Bokuto he’s actually _worried_ by the thought of upsetting him.

“Perhaps you could tell me why you like them?” Keiji prompts.

Bokuto smiles. “I don’t wanna annoy you with something you think is silly,” he says.

“I didn’t say silly,” Keiji says, weakly. It’s not really a lie, but more of one than Keiji usually tells.

“I know,” Bokuto says, but he seems to get it the situation more than Keiji does. There’s silence again until Bokuto gets off at his stop, still smiling but clearly upset.

Which is how Keiji’s mother finds him with his notes spread out on the kitchen table, frantically attempting to compose a measured response that will convince Bokuto  he doesn’t mind hearing Bokuto talk about… well, anything to be honest.

She looks over his shoulder and hums. “Keiji, if you go full stalker, please give me a week’s notice before burying this boy in our backyard.”

“I am _not_ stalking him, I’m just recording our two-sided and entirely consensual interactions,” Keiji mutters.

“Alright,” she says, hands on his shoulders. “And what has you so distressed?”

“I am attempting to compose an apology.”

“Generally, one begins with ‘I’m sorry,’ but I realize you have very little experience with this sort of thing, so…”

He turns around to glare at her. “Aren’t you supposed to offer motherly advice as I learn the intricacies of romantic and sexual love?”

“I was unaware that you were that far along. I recall you were planning to clutch your chest dramatically and raise your voice for the first time in your life.”

“And you wonder why I’m so harsh.”

“Alright,” she says, pulling up a chair beside him. “Hand me your stalker notes.”

“ _They’re not stalker notes_ ,” he grits out.

-X-

“You’re sure it doesn’t seem too desperate?” Keiji asks, lacing up his shoes as his mother grabs her keys.

“You _are_ desperate,” she says.

“Oka _san_ ,” he groans.

“Don’t _worry_ so much,” she says, adjusting his tie. He can never seem to tie it straight, but he doesn’t particularly mind, but his mother does. “If this ends in catastrophe, maybe you’ll finally allow me to comfort you over something.” She sniffs theatrically. “We can cry over romantic comedies and eat ice cream…”

“You’re making it worse!” Keiji snaps.

She gasps. “Are you raising your voice?” She puts her hand to her cheek. “Like a real boy.”

He growls and grabs his backpack, storming out.

“You’ll be fine, I promise!” she yells after him.

Keiji hasn’t been this nervous to talk to someone in his life. On the train he grips the handrail above him as the train pulls up to Bokuto’s stop. Bokuto sees him through the window and smiles as he finds him. Keiji feels like he might be easier to understand if he didn’t smile all the time, but he’s still glad to see that smile.

“Good morning, Bokuto-san,” he says, suddenly incredibly aware that Bokuto is noticeably taller than him.

Bokuto just waves. He has an odd way of waving, just raising his hand and wriggling his fingers like he’s clawing at something.

“You left before I could respond,” Keiji says.

Bokuto frowns, eyes rising as he thinks back. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah.” He shrugs. “No deal. Big deal. No…” He stops abruptly, as if giving up.

“I’ve compiled a list of scenes I liked,” Keiji blurts, in one of his least graceful moments since his first catastrophic growth spurt.

Bokuto cocks his head.

“You… you said Captain America was your favorite, right?” Keiji asks. Bokuto’s eyes go wide, as though he’s startled by the thought of someone remembering his favorite character. “I think there were quite a few good moments in that. I liked the moment when he’s talking with the German doctor.”

“Before he gets big?” Bokuto says, eagerly.

“Yes,” Keiji says. “I enjoyed the idea that it was his spirit that made him a hero, even physically.”

Bokuto nods a little too excitedly.

“And… I enjoyed the scenes with Peggy. It was one of the better constructed relationships and it was fun to watch. The true of his relationship with Bucky as well.”

“He’s bi!” Bokuto blurts, nearly bouncing. “Like me!”

Keiji’s mind derails. He’d assumed Bokuto was shy, but he’s come out to Keiji after a few weeks of knowing him? Keiji hasn’t come out to anyone but his mother in the approximately five years since he’d clarified his sexuality for himself.

_What the hell is this guy?_

Bokuto must mistake his sudden flurry of new hypotheses for something else, because he lets go of the handrail to wave his hands frantically. “I won’t be it… weird about… wait…” He looks up, trying to find his lost sentence, and in that moment the train lurches just enough to send him sprawling on top of Keiji.

Keiji, now trapped between the train doors and Bokuto’s copious and glorious muscles, is torn between panic and relief. He looks up, finding himself nearly nose to nose with Bokuto, probably blushing terribly. “I’m gay,” he chokes out.

His plan had been to learn as much as possible about Bokuto and not return the favor unless necessary. Now he’s immediately told him his biggest secret, and he’s still not entirely sure why.

“Oh!” Bokuto says, and grins. “Cool!”

“A-anyway,” Keiji says, as Bokuto pushes himself away and lets Keiji breathe again. “What I was trying to say is… Though I think they’re standard, there’s things I like about them.”

Bokuto’s brow furrows.

“The movies,” Keiji clarifies. “And I’d… I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

Bokuto chews at his lip. “Well, alright,” he says. “B… but you gotta stop me if I get,” he has to swallow a few times, “annoying.”

“Of course, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says with a nod, though he is currently not at all sure he can stop any part of whatever is going on here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo. 
> 
> Also I can't remember if I mentioned update schedules but... I'm going to attempt weekly, but it's not going to be as meticulous as the Among Us Verse because I have no buffer chapters and writing autism related stuff takes a lot of thought for me. (Also exams. And the Among Us Verse.) So... eh. I'm doing my best and we'll see.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this got rough.
> 
> Uh... I feel like... minor content warnings for minor homphobia and uh... weird family dynamics? I have no idea but it's very raw for me and it might hit some others hard too.
> 
> Also I wanted to mirror my own experiences with being from a multicultural family, but I wanted to avoid the situation between Korea and Japan, so I chose the Philippines to translate the emotional nuances of a Hungarian-American family to something else-Japanese. If I've done something tone deaf or disrespectful, feel free to tell me.

“And he’s really really really really pretty,” Koutarou finishes. He’s been peeling potatoes and ranting to Aiza for at least twenty minutes now.

“He sounds very serious,” Aiza says.

Bokuto Aiza, Koutarou’s mother, is a small Filipino woman. He has her eyes, but he takes much more after his father, which he finds unfortunate, because his mother is incredibly beautiful. “Yeah,” Koutarou says. “But it’s a good serious! I think he’s really smart!”

“You’re smart,” she says, sounding slightly insulted by the idea that he wouldn’t think so.

“I know!” Koutarou says. “But he’s like, focused smart.”

“He just sells himself better, I’m sure,” Koutarou’s father says, as he comes into the kitchen, kissing Aiza on the cheek. “You’re focused too, when you’re into something.”

“I _know_ ,” Koutarou says. “I didn’t say I was dumb, I just think he’s really cool.” He sighs. “I bet he thinks I’m weird, though. We keep meeting outside of volleyball and I’m all over the place.”

“Oh, sweetface,” Aiza says, packing away the potatoes. Koutarou is kind of sad to see them go. He _likes_ the repetitive movements of peeling potatoes. “If he’s a nice guy he’ll be fine with your issues. I think people notice your personality more than you being quiet.”

It’s a lot more than just being quiet. He’s quiet at home, because he’s at his most comfortable here (sort of). There’s no urge to get as much in as he can and there’s no pressure to say enough either. But he doesn’t know how to explain that, so he lets it slide. “I stutter a lot when I meet new people,” is all he points out. “I said a bunch of dumb stuff to him.

“Oh, I’m sure he thinks it’s sweet,” she says. “You’ve got such a friendly face, no one’s bothered by you.”

Again, this is untrue, but he does feel a little better just from being told he’s ok.

His father refills his coke cup and walks out of the kitchen again. Koutarou, having nothing to occupy him anymore, bounds after him.

“He watched all the Marvel movies for me!” he cries, trotting after his father as his father returns to his office.

“Oh yeah?” his father asks, smiling.

Koutarou nods happily. In the distance, he can hear his brother playing with his friends on some internet game. Koutarou sits down on his father’s bed as his father pulls up his chair to his desk. He starts recounting the copious conversations he’d had with Akaashi about the movies, as well as all the thoughts he hadn’t managed to get out during the conversation.

His father keeps working as Koutarou talks, responses slowly dwindling as he talks. Koutarou keeps trying for a while, until he barely gets a nod, at which point he returns to his room. He’s found a new show to watch and he’s eager to get back to it anyway.

He gets a few episodes in before he can hear yelling, despite his earphones. He considers just closing the door, but the closed door makes him feel claustrophobic, and he knows the fight won’t stop unless he gets involved.

He sighs and pokes his head out. In the hallway, his brother is rolling his eyes and returning to his room. “What is it this time?”

“Abe-kun cancelled the plans we had tonight because he had too much homework,” Jiro sighs. “She thinks it’s because Kimura’s mother is conspiring against her.”

“Abe’s mom barely talks to Kimura’s mom,” Koutarou says.

“ _I_ know that,” Jiro snaps. “But now she figures we’re lying to her because she’s Filipino.”

Koutarou sighs. “Papa?”

“He’s no better.” Jiro shakes his head. “They’re both like little kids.” He slips into his room and slams the door after himself.

By the time Koutarou is in the kitchen, Aiza is in the phase of this perpetual argument where she’s screaming, “If you had any respect for me at all you’d tell Kimura she can’t treat me like this!”

“This has nothing to do with Kimura-san!”

“Of course it does!” Aiza cries. “Ever since I got into that fight with the principle, she’s been talking about how I only have these ideas about discipline because I’m from a poor family in a poor country and now all his friends from his old school keep cancelling on him!”

“They’re busy,” Koutarou says. “Abe-kun has entrance exams this year.”

“There’s always something!”

“Don’t bother, she’s in a mood,” his father snaps. “Everyone disagreeing with her is apparently just racist now.”

“If you’re going to be a jerk about it, just leave,” Koutarou sighs.

“She’s the one who started yelling!”

“I know!” Koutarou shouts. “So go away and let her calm down.”

“I was trying to calm her down!”

“Well now you’re just being childish, so leave!”

“Oh, no, he has to assert himself as the big, rich man!”

Koutarou’s father throws up his hands and leaves. He turns back as if to say something, but Koutarou plants himself in his way. “No. Come on, you know she’s just picking a fight.” This seems to work, because his father is storming down the hallway, his door slamming behind him loudly.

“Oh, now he’s slamming doors, showing what a violent, big _man_ he is,” Aiza mutters.

“Stop it,” he says.

“What, he can run around slamming doors and I’m just supposed to shut up about it?”

“He’s just frustrated, because you’re yelling at him.”

“I was just saying how it’s unfair that just because I stood up for your brother they take it out on him, and then _your father_ decided to yell me down!”

Koutarou knows from experience this is not what happened, but he also knows that Aiza isn’t lying. He’s been on the wrong side of her selective memory more than a few times. “Abe-kun is just busy,” he says. “They’re not targeting Jiro. They all like Jiro.”

“They’ve canceled every single plan they made with him!”

“Well, he switched schools, of course he doesn’t have as much time for his old classmates. He’s playing games with the new ones all the time.”

“Oh, I knew you’d take his side,” Aiza says. “All I do is stand up for your brother and then you all treat me like dirt!”

“I’m not taking sides,” Koutarou says. “That’s just the truth.”

“I know Kimura has been talking about me! They all think I’m crazy!”

It’s very hard not to say, _well, you are_. “No one is talking about you. Abe-kun’s family hardly even like the Kimuras.”

“Well, they like that they’re all full Japanese!”

“That’s got nothing to do with anything!” Koutarou is starting to lose his temper too. This fight happens over and over and if Koutarou could just focus enough, say the right things, it wouldn’t have to end in screaming each time. But the fights move faster than he does, and it always ends the same way.

“You can all just sit around and watch your brother get mistreated and then yell at me for fighting for him, but—“

“Jiro’s fine!” Koutarou yells, because he can’t keep up with this and the only way he’s going to get heard if he just gets her to _shut up for a second._ “The only thing that hurts Jiro is _you_ , doing _this_ every time!”

She finally stops yelling, because Koutarou’s just said something hurtful, _again_. “No one cares where you’re from or how poor you grew up, and they’re not taking revenge on you for pulling Jiro out of his old school” he says. “They’re just busy.”

She sinks into her chair. “Fine,” she says, chewing at her hands.

“No one’s against you,” he says.

“Whatever.”

He can feel the tears starting to gather in his eyes, but he knows she’ll think they’re fake tears to make her yield, especially now that she’s starting to fall into her guilty phase.

At least without the yelling everyone will calm down.

When he’d been younger, Koutarou had intentionally said hurtful things to make them listen, because it was the only thing that _worked._ Now it’s a habit he can’t break. He shuffles back to his room and cries there.

There’s blessed silence for a while, but after a few hours he can hear his mother crying, and drags himself out of the room to sit beside her on the floor in her room.

“I just can’t stand the thought of him being so lonely,” she sobs.

“He’s not lonely.”

“I shouldn’t have made him switch schools,” she continues.

“It’s fine,” Koutarou says.

“I know you’re all suffering from my constant crazy ideas.”

“We all agreed with you.”

“That school was so cruel to him.”

“I know.”

“You know he needed the bathroom breaks.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to talk it over with them.”

“I was there.”

“They’re the ones who blew it out of proportion.”

“I remember.”

“It’s not my fault.”

“We all agreed with you.”

“Why won’t you back me up when I’m trying to defend him from these things?”

“We do, when there’s something happening,” he says. “But Abe-kun was just busy.”

His father shuffles into the room, a lot calmer than before, and sits next to Aiza, draping an arm around her. “My little bunny,” he says softly.

“I don’t want him to be lonely.”

“He’s _fine_ ,” his father says. “He’s already made plans with them next week.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did,” Jiro sighs, coming to rest on the door frame.

“No you didn’t. I wouldn’t have gotten mad if you had.”

“I _did_ say it,” Jiro says. “You ignored me.”

“You did not! I would never have gotten mad if you did!”

Jiro rolls his eyes, but he knows as well as Koutarou that if he works her up again now it’ll just fall into the same pattern. “Sure,” he says. “Sorry.”

There’s a long silence, and without the yelling Koutarou isn’t sure who’s still mad or calming down. He can never tell. But the yelling doesn’t start back up again, and after a while, they’re laughing over something again. Aiza is still crying, Koutarou still feels awful, but laughter means things are ok again.

-X-

The next morning he has to get up early for school.

There’s no telling what kind of mood things will be in the morning after a fight. Which is a heck of a lot of mornings. He fiddles with his tie, trying to get it straight, but it’s always just a little crooked, so he has to give up eventually.

Koutarou creeps into the kitchen. Aiza hands him a bento, and it’s impossible to tell if she’s still mad.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, as he pulls on his shoes. “This Akaashi.”

Koutarou sighs. Sometimes he considers just not telling Aiza about anything, because she always overthinks things and comes up with the most painful worry possible, especially when she’s in a Mood. But the fact is, Aiza is his best friend, when she’s not in a Mood.

“I just worry he’s only interested in you because you’re… you know,” she says.

“What?” he says.

“Into boys.”

He sighs. “He started talking to me before I came out.”

“It’s just I worry that he’s just very lonely, not having options and all, and he’s just grabbing on to you.”

He ties his shoes a little tighter.

“You always pick up the weird ones, is all,” she says.

 _I am a weird one_ , he thinks, but instead he just stands up and says, “Goodbye, mother,” and walks out before they can get in a fight. By the time he gets home she’ll probably be less stressed and everything will be fine.

As he walks to the train station, though, that thought seems less than enough. He feels heavy and he keeps thinking of all the things he could have responded with if he could just think of words fast enough. He comes up with a thousand comebacks he’ll never have the ability to say.

Maybe he’ll tell Akaashi, and then it’ll stop running in circles inside his head.

Maybe he’ll start crying and Akaashi will ask and then Koutarou can complain.

Maybe…

He catches sight of Akaashi severe face on the train, and it makes him smile, and by the time he’s gotten on the train next to Akaashi, it just doesn’t seem the right time to lose it.

-X-

It doesn’t seem like the right time to lose it during morning practice either when everyone, including him, is having fun.

It doesn’t seem like the right time to lose it before class, when everyone’s chatting and smiling and he smiles with them impulsively.

It doesn’t seem like the right time to lose it during class.

Losing it in the abandoned hallway during lunch is pointless and doesn’t help.

It doesn’t seem like the right time to lose it during afternoon practice.

If only it was a little more obvious he was feeling awful. If only someone would ask and the tears he could never hold back would start up. If only he knew how to stop smiling and laughing, but he’s spent so much time learning how to seem friendly and fit in that he doesn’t know how to stop.

It’s his fault he keeps hiding it and laughing it off, but he’s so _mad_ at them anyway. The inside of his head is a chorus of _None of you care, none of you care, none of you care._

About halfway through practice, Akaashi stops before tossing to him for the umpteenth time. “Is everything alright?” he asks.

Koutarou stares at him.

It usually takes days of this sort of mood and the inevitable, humiliating collapse before anyone notices, and even then they don’t really _ask_ , just assume he’d gotten mad out of nowhere and roll their eyes at him. (That’s his fault, too. He doesn’t want to spend all of practice complaining about his mom every time she gets weird. He just can’t help it when his brain gets stuck in a mood.)

“Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t mean to smile, but he does. “I’m gh… great.”

“You seem… upset,” Akaashi says. “A little. When people aren’t looking.”

Well, that’s about as much as Koutarou can take that reasoning, because he bursts out in tears.

Akaashi looks very much like he has never seen anyone cry before and doesn’t know what to do with it. “Uh,” he says. “I…”

“My mom’s a crazy person,” Koutarou bawls. “I mean she’s wonderful but she has these moods and she yells and everyone yells and then we all say mean things and now I gotta go home and I don’t know what mood she’ll be in and…”

“S-sorry?” Akaashi tries, like he’s not sure that’s a comforting thing to say.

Koutarou rubs at his eyes desperately. Now he feels selfish for dumping this on Akaashi. Are they even good enough friends for him to start with “my mom’s a crazy person”? Koutarou isn’t very good at not dumping personal information on people. If he’s got enough luck to be taking fluently, he tries to take the opportunity before it’s gone again.

“Do you want to come over to my house?” Akaashi offers. From what Koutarou can tell, he’s trying to offer an active solution, instead of trying to say something comforting. Akaashi seems like an action-oriented person.

 _You can’t solve this situation_ , Koutarou thinks. He’s not even sure if going over to a friend’s house will help. It might just offend his mother and end in another fight. But he nods anyway, because he really, really doesn’t want to get home before Jiro, who can text him what the situation is.

Akaashi, for his part, seems very relieved that he did something.

-X-

“You’ve gh… got a pug?” Koutarou sniffs, while Akaashi is undoing his tie.

He’s sent a text to his dad about where he is, and he can only hope it doesn’t end in catastrophe.

Akaashi nods. “We adopted him from a shelter,” he says. “My mother and I don’t really support the breeding of pugs, but we wanted to give this… ca… this one a good home, when we saw him.”

“What’s his name?” Koutarou asks, pulling the pug into his arms. It licks at the tears still on his face.

“Uh,” Akaashi says.

Koutarou watches him expectantly.

Akaashi picks at his fingers. “He doesn’t have one.”

Koutarou cocks his head.

Akaashi picks at his fingers even more intensely. “My mother won’t let me name it unholy creation.”

Koutarou blinks at him.

“Pugs are a bad breed,” Akaashi explains. “They’re bred for an aesthetic that isn’t healthy. He’s already blind in one eye because it got dislocated while he was running, and he can barely breathe.” He scratches the pug’s head with a softness Koutarou hasn’t seen in him before.

“That’s not his fault!” Koutarou cries. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”

“No I won’t. He’s too stupid.” He tugs on the pug’s ear. “Aren’t you?” he coos at it.

Koutarou, despite the fact that he’s still crying a little, starts laughing, and before long he’s doing both with enough force to set his head spinning.

“Do you…” Akaashi says, carefully, “… want to sit on the sofa, maybe?”

Koutarou nods and follows Akaashi into the room. Akaashi hovers above him for a while, then carefully pats his head with his arm outstretched, like he’s slightly afraid of Koutarou. Koutarou chuckles and wipes away his tears. “You’re real beh… bah… _shit_.”

“Oh,” Akaashi says, softly.

Koutarou looks up at him.

Akaashi looks like he’s been caught doing something illicit. “I just… I wasn’t sure if you were bothered by… ah… your stutter.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says. “You c… _damn_ … could have asked.”

Akaashi sits down beside him, back straight as a rod. “I’m… not usually one to initiate friendships,” he murmurs.

“Oh,” Koutarou says. The pug is dripping drool into his lap. He tries not to mind, because it seems really happy about it. “I guess you can…………. kinda tell.”

Akaashi blushes a little at that, which is the most response Koutarou has ever seen from him. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“Nah,” Koutarou says. “I don’t have a lot of people I don’t stutter around.” He makes a face. “Much.”

“You seem… very sociable,” Akaashi asks, shuffling a little closer, seeming curious.

“Oh, sure, during volleyball,” Koutarou says, scratching the pug’s head. “I don’t mean to be so loud, by the way, I just… it happens.”

Akaashi watches him quietly. “Ah,” he says. “I…” He frowns, like he’s selecting his words carefully. His hands are like claws on his knees. “May I ask you something personal?”

“Yeah, sure,” Koutarou says. “I’unno if you noticed but once I’m talking, I like to talk about myself.”

“Right,” Akaashi says. “Um. What is it that determines when you’re comfortable talking or not?”

“I guess some of it is nerves,” Koutarou says. “At ho-ome I’m fine, mostly. And on… at practice. But it helps if it’s something I pra-ctice.”

“Like volleyball terms,” Akaashi says.

Koutarou nods.

“And you don’t have very good volume control.”

Koutarou feels his stomach flips. He shakes his head.

“Oh,” Akaashi says, watching his face. “Is that a sensitive topic?”

“Just… a lot of speak up and be quiets,” Koutarou says. “I mean… people… to me… uh.”

“I understood,” Akaashi volunteers. They’re both quiet for a while. “Would you like to watch something?”

“I thought you didn’t like movies,” Koutarou says.

“I… like Star Trek,” Akaashi says. “My mother and I watch it a lot.”

“I _love_ Star Trek!” Koutarou cries, flinching when Akaashi jumps a little from the loudness of his voice. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Akaashi says. He seems on the verge of saying something else, but he seems to think better of it. “I don’t mind.” He stands up. “I’ll get one of the DVDs. Do you have a favorite?”

“Uh… Next Gen?” Koutarou offers. It seems like the one Akaashi is most likely to like.

Akaashi almost smiles. “That’s my favorite.”

He disappears and reappears with a box set of DVDs and a tub of ice cream and settles in beside Koutarou.

To be honest, this is Koutarou’s favorite mode of socializing. Even less stressful than volleyball.

They watch until the front door opens and a woman with black and grey hair pokes her head in. She looks just like Akaashi. “Oh my,” she gasps. “Keiji, do you have a _friend_ over?”

Akaashi is across the room in record time, shoving her out of the room and out of sight. Koutarou can hear them whispering frantically, so he takes the time to check his messages.

 ** _How’s Aiza? Is she still mad?_ ** he asks Jiro.

 ** _Nah._** After a long while, he adds, probably grudgingly, ** _She’s happy you’re socializing._** Koutarou grins. He’s probably in the middle of a game. He rereads the message and breathes out a sigh of relief. That means he can go home whenever.

Akaashi comes back into the room, slightly pink around the edges. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” he asks.

“Nah,” Koutarou says. “My mom’s calmed down.”

“Oh,” Akaashi says. “Well, you’re welcome here anytime.”

“Yeah,” Koutarou says. “Thanks for having me over.” He stands up, setting the pug on the floor. It tries to hump his leg in response.

Akaashi’s mother is peeking around the corner eagerly.

“I’ll show you out,” Akaashi says quickly, trying to subtly wave her away.

Koutarou decides not to mention it.

-X-

“I’m sorry about what I said this morning,” Aiza says, sitting on the edge of his bed as he watches his show. “I know it’s none of my business who you make friends with or why.”

“He’s nice,” Koutarou says. “In his own way.”

“I know,” she says. “I’m relieved you’ve got a close friend, really. I shouldn’t get into things. You’re a young man. You’ll be grown up soon, and what am I going to do, follow you when you’re fifty and I’m eighty, trying to make sure no one hurts my baby?”

Koutarou laughs a little at that. “I know you don’t mean anything bad about it.”

“It’s the Megabeast,” she says. “You just have to ignore me when I get all naggy, you know that.”

He nods, though he knows it’s not all that easy.

“I just get so protective of your brother.”

Koutarou tries not to remind her they were talking about _him_ for once. He knows exactly why she’s protective of his brother. (Jiro is not nearly the child she thinks he is, but that’s irrelevant.)

They’re quiet for a while. Koutarou still sort of wants to cry.

Aiza sighs. “You’re a good little bird,” she says, ruffling his hair. “I’m sorry you have to put up with the Megabeast.”

“It’s ok,” Koutarou says, though mostly because guilt is the worst thing about his mother.

“Anyway, I’m distracting you from your show,” she says. “Go ahead.” She kisses the top of his head and leaves.

He sighs and starts up the show again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pug will fix all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew... made it on time. 
> 
> Uh... awkward, meaningless KuroAka ahead, but it won't last any longer than this chapter. I know I've written a lot of poly before, but it just didn't seem to fit with this fic (at least not via BokuAka.)

“Did you pack socks?” his mother asks.

Keiji sighs and glares at her, zipping up his duffel.“Yes. I packed socks.”

“I always worry when you're going to camp,” she sighs, though the fact that she’s already made herself a cocktail of some kind suggests that she is also glad to have some time to herself.

Keiji sighs. “Okasan. It's fine. I'll only be gone a week.”

She looks up from where she's draped dramatically over the couch with her glass. “What if I get lonely?” 

“Okasan. Please,” Keiji groans, picking up the pug and handing it to her without any further explanation.

She takes the pug under her arm and pouts at him. “You're so cold. Have fun.”

Keiji waves at her, then dashes out the door so he can still catch his train.

-X- 

Bokuto is quiet on the bus, staring out the window with his round eyes, with a sort of fascinating fixation. Keiji tries to be subtle about watching him, but Konoha notices his staring. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he chuckles. 

Keiji knows they mean well, teasing Bokuto, and Keiji doesn't want to get into it unless he knows it bothers Bokuto, but he can't help but be annoyed by the idea of them teasing Bokuto about his loudness when Keiji is fairly sure that loudness means that Bokuto has achieved a precious and rare comfort.

Keiji glances at Bokuto, but he's starting to think that it's very difficult to identify Bokuto's moods until he just breaks. Keiji frowns to himself and looks away.

He's both excited and strangely nervous about the fact that he'll get to see Bokuto react to new people.

The bus pulls into the school lot, and there's already some people waiting there. Bokuto perks up as soon as he sees them, and he's all but bouncing in his seat by the time they roll to a stop.

Bokuto clambers over Keiji's lap in his excitement, leaving Keiji blinking and confused.

“There he goes,” Komi laughs.

“KUROO!” Bokuto cries, bounding down the steps from the bus and diving at a very tall boy with messy hair.

Keiji frowns, watching closely. The boy, must be Kuroo, grins and wraps his arm around Bokuto's shoulder.

“Come on, Akaashi,” Konoha says, punching his shoulder. “They're not gonna get any less annoying.”

Keiji furrows his brow and grabs his bag, as well as Bokuto's, and follows Konoha.

“Oh!” Bokuto cries, when he sees Keiji. He yanks him forward, almost displaying him to Kuroo. “This is Agha… Akaashi! He's our setter!”

“Uhuh,” Kuroo says. His sharp eyes settle on Keiji, and Keiji does not like how they seem to be sizing him up. “Oh, Kenma's here too, he's just avoiding people.”

“Oh,”  Koutarou says, though he’s clearly still thinking. “Oh! Childhood friend Kenma!”

“Yeah,” Kuroo chuckles.

“You got him back on the team!”

“Wasn't easy,” Kuroo says, leading Bokuto towards the school with the arm around his shoulders. “But yeah, he's staying on for high school, if the third years don't get to him.”

Bokuto nods distractedly, and Kuroo glances back at Keiji. “I think your buddy is carrying your bag, Kou.”

Keiji does not like the idea of this smug looking stranger having a nickname for Bokuto.

Bokuto startles, whirling around. “Oh! Sorry, Akaashi, I totally forgot!” He grabs his bag from Keiji and slings it over his shoulder. Keiji kind of wishes he'd left it, as though it's a proof that he's a better friend than whoever the hell this other guy is.

Kuroo’s eyes bore down at him as though he knows exactly what Keiji is thinking and is filing it away for later.

Keiji doesn't like him at all.

“Akaashi-kun,” comes the coach's voice before he can follow after Kuroo and Bokuto. 

Keiji stops, turning around. “Yes, sensei?”

“I noticed you've been practicing with Bokuto-kun quite a bit.”

“Yes, sensei.”

“Bokuto is a good spiker, but he has his moods,” the coach says. “I'd like you to play starting setter this week, see if you can handle him.”

Keiji tries not to scowl at the wording. He knows Bokuto well enough to see he's complicated, and though he doesn't exactly know the range of that complication, he doesn't think it's very reasonable to talk about the strongest player on the team as a toddler. Still, starting setter as a first year is a good deal. “Thank you, sensei. I'll do my best.”

-X-

“Aghaaaasi,” Bokuto cries, not even bothering to say his name right this time. “Kuroo's gonna block for me, you want to set?”

“Of course, Bokuto-san,” he says, though he doesn't like that Kuroo has to be included.

Kuroo, in the meantime, is standing by the door, grinning. Keiji wants to wipe that grin off his face.

Nekoma isn't the strongest team here in the least. They're excellent at receives and their spiking is slightly above average, making them formidable,but nothing special. Their setter is alright, nothing special, but it's the cat eyed boy that Kuroo keeps glancing at that makes Keiji nervous.

For one, he's suspiciously hard to notice, like he does it on purpose. He also seems to be someone Kuroo is betting on, and Kuroo seems the strategic type. Most of all, Keiji is unnerved by the way he watches their games from the sidelines, with what could be seen as disinterest, but which is likely a terrifying, calculating focus behind the mask.

They’re going to be a problem sooner or later.

They find an open gym. Bokuto bounces around, trying to get some other people to practice with them, but he's not having a lot of luck.

Kuroo watches him, chuckling. “Bird brain doesn't know how to negotiate.”

Keiji wants to punch him, but since he has no idea how to punch someone, he'd probably hurt himself more than Kuroo and embarrass himself.

“You're not bringing Kenma?” Keiji asks.

Kuroo lets out one big  _ HA _ . “Kenma doesn't do extra practice. And certainly not at Bokuto's pace.”

Keiji glances at the setter in question, who is currently playing a videogame in the corner. “I see.”

“Glad he managed to wrangle a setter. Last year poor Bokuto had to give Yukie his lunches for a month to have her toss to us as much as he wanted.” He glanced down at Keiji. “What's he bribing you with?”

“Nothing,” Keiji mutters.

“Yeah? You a nutcase like him or do you look up to him as a senpai that much?”

He's being analyzed and he doesn't like it one bit. “I don't see why I need a special reason to practice with the team's ace as long as he's able,” Keiji says. “Anyway, it's not like I'll be able to stay a starting setter as a first year for long if I'm not working for it.”

“Sure, sure,” Kuroo says, like he’s trying to pry more information out of Keiji. “But you have to admit, he's a tiring guy, right?”

“Then why are you practicing with him?”

Kuroo shrugs. “Because I like him.”

Keiji blinks. That was not the answer he'd been expecting, and Kuroo has successfully managed to throw him off. He furrows his brow, and Kuroo just grins at him victoriously.

-X-

Kuroo is very good at blocking. His height helps, but his extraordinary agility and timing is nothing to sneeze at either.

He laughs as he blocks Bokuto once again. “That's not fair!” Bokuto whines. “You know I can't do crosses!”

“As your opponent, Bokuto-san, I think it's his obligation to use the fact that you can't do crosses,” Keiji points out.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto whines. He's having a good time, Keiji thinks, by the way he's still bouncing and babbling, whine or no whine. “Back me up.”

“That's how the game works, Bokuto-san.”

“Learn how to do crosses, stupid,” Kuroo chuckles.

Bokuto lets out a high pitched whine, waving his arms around theatrically. Yes, he's having fun, Keiji decides.

“Akaashiii.”

“Don't whine, Bokuto-san. Kuroo-san is right, you should try some crosses.”

Bokuto whines louder. Kuroo just laughs.

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji scolds, tossing him a ball. “Come on.”

Bokuto backs into position and hits the ball to Keiji, running after it.

He does not manage to do a cross. Kuroo finds it far too hilarious.

-X-

“You like him too,” Kuroo says, straddling the bench beside him as they eat breakfast. 

“Of course. He is my teammate,” Keiji says, resisting the urge to murder Kuroo right here and now when Kuroo reaches in front of him and steals a bite of his food.

“Ohohoho,” Kuroo coos. “I think it's a bit more than that.”

“Teammate does not exclude friend,” Keiji sighs.

“Yeah, keep going,” Kuroo says, taking another bite.

Keiji's eyes narrow. “What are you trying to do here, exactly?”

Kuroo shrugs. “I don't know. Just saying.”

Keiji narrows his eyes further.

“Oh come on,” Kuroo sighs. “I'm not blackmailing you.”

“It's really none of your business,” Keiji says. “Now if you'd stop eating my food, that would be great.”

Kuroo eyes him quietly, but after a grueling few minutes he stands up and slinks away.

Bokuto comes bouncing onto his place a few moments later. “What were you guys talking about?” he asks. He's barely stuttered since they got here, Keiji realizes. “You looked pretty tense!”

“Nothing important,” Keiji assures him.

“Wait,” Bokuto says, eyes wide. “Do you guys not like each other?” 

Keiji suddenly wants to lie, but instead he sighs and looks at Bokuto. “My first impression of him is not ideal, no,” Keiji says. “I can’t say I know what he thinks of me.”

Bokuto sobers up at that. “Oh,” he says. “Ok then.”

“It’s alright,” Keiji assures him. “We both like you.”

“Yeah!” Bokuto says, with a smile. Keiji feels as though it might be fractionally less bright than before, but he can’t actually tell. Last time he’d only been able to catch Bokuto’s bad mood when he was in the locker room, drawing in on himself just a little too much, and even then it had been more a guess than anything. “I know. I bet you’ll warm up to him anyway! He’s cool, I promise!”

“... If you say so, Bokuto-san,” Keiji concedes.

-X-

To be honest, the only thing Keiji likes about Kuroo is that he doesn’t seem to know the many sides of Bokuto as well as Keiji does, and he’s noticed this only because Keiji wants to be sure that he’s the better friend.

Granted, Keiji can’t really blame him for poking fun at Bokuto when Keiji prods at him just as often, but Keiji prods it him because he’s honest and Bokuto responds well to it, and Kuroo just seems to like getting under people’s skin.

Especially Keiji’s. He seems to be around every corner with that dumb grin, just watching to find all of Keiji’s secrets, likely to use them against him in a match. Keiji feels like he’s constantly on defense, trying to be as careful about not revealing their strategies as possible.

And on top of keeping Kuroo’s spying at bay, he still can’t figure out if Bokuto is upset or not. 

And like before, he isn’t sure until Bokuto snaps with little warning. 

He’s been trying those crosses for a while now, and they’re just not working. Kuroo hasn’t been letting up on this weakness either. Somehow or other, Kuroo has managed to get Kenma to play setter this game, and Kenma is twice as brutal as Kuroo. Kuroo seems to see the strategic value in defending against Bokuto, but Kenma seems to be putting pressure on Bokuto just out of some kind of detached curiosity.

The failed crosses and the bad mood that Keiji is fairly certain has been silently building in Bokuto the past few days start to show, and, before Keiji can even start thinking about a strategy to get his attention off the crosses, Bokuto is throwing himself onto the floor. “Don’t even bother tossing to me anymore, Akaashi!” he cries, rubbing at his eyes.

The second and third years seem unsurprised. “There he goes,” Komi sighs, though he’s far enough that  he probably only says it with the assumption that Bokuto won’t notice.

Keiji takes a step back and tries to assess the situation. The coach looks furious and the team appears frustrated, but they’re putting on good faces, trying to reason with Bokuto.

Keiji grits his teeth. What had worked last time? He’d panicked and offered to let Bokuto stay at his house so he could avoid his family troubles. Was it the kindness or the fact that Keiji had relieved some pressure off of him that had cheered him up? Is the bigger factor here the failure or that Keiji doesn’t like his friend?

Kuroo is bending under the net, joining the others in encouraging Bokuto, and Keiji has to admit he is doing a better job of not sounding vaguely scolding as he panders to Bokuto’s ego. 

There’s only a two real options here: 

Option A: The last time, it had been the kindness of the offer that had cheered Bokuto up. In that case, Keiji should go over to offer his own encouragement, possibly by agreeing with Kuroo to smooth over that disagreement as well. In that case, however, Bokuto would likely be responding better to the praise that’s getting tossed at him from all sides, but it seems like he’s just getting more upset, tugging at his hair and shutting his eyes hard.

Option B: The last time, it had been the relief of pressure that had gotten Bokuto back on his feet. In that case, having a team and a half surrounding him and trying to cheer him up won’t do.

Option B seems the easiest to test.

“Let’s keep playing,” Keiji says.

Everyone stares at him. The coach stays silent, watching to see how he handles it.

“Bokuto-san can rejoin us when he’s feeling better,” he continues.

Bokuto blinks at him, looking bewildered, but at least he’s stopped crying, just sniffling pathetically.

Washio shrugs and leaves the circle around Bokuto.

Kuroo narrows his eyes at him, but he stoops under the net again and waits.

“Bokuto-san, you can stay on the court, but please stand up and try not to get in anyone’s way,” Keiji says.

“Sheesh, you’re cold,” Konoha murmurs, but he shuffles back to his place, followed by Komi.

Bokuto hauls himself off the floor and stands out of the way, and Keiji hands the ball to Washio for his serve. 

Right now, no one seems comfortable with this, but Keiji keeps a close eye on Bokuto as he continues playing. It’s a large handicap, not being able to toss to the best player on the team, not to mention having a space on the court that’s essentially dead weight. 

But now that he’s not getting dogpiled by people trying to convince him to stop being sad, Bokuto is finally wiping his face and watching the ball instead. As his energy returns, he seems more eager to play again than upset about whatever was bothering him.

This is going to work.

All Keiji needs is an opening. He keeps directing the attention away from Bokuto, until even Kenma seems to have stopped keeping an eye on him.

It’s a gamble, but if he pulls this off…

“Bokuto-san,” he cries, and luckily, Bokuto’s eagerness to get back in the game pays off, because he reacts faster than Nekoma can, catching the toss Keiji sends him easily.

Kuroo manages to get in the right position to block him even with the unexpected nature of the toss, but his surprise manages to throw off the impeccable timing that makes his blocks as good as they are, and Bokuto blows past him easily, ending with Kuroo on his ass on the floor.

_ Take. That,  _ Keiji thinks, trying not to grin and failing.

Kuroo sees the smile crawling across his face unbidden and grins right back.

-X-

“Akaashi?” Bokuto whispers, once they’re laying on their futons in the dark later that night.

“Yes?” Keiji whispers back.

“‘Mnot great at making friends,” Bokuto says. “I get along with ev……. everybody, I guess, but… like…  _ friends _ .”

“Mhmm,” Keiji says. Bokuto is very close right now, close enough to roll right into Keiji’s futon, against his shoulder with only half a motion. 

“I just donwanna have t-to juggle friends,” Bokuto whispers.

Keiji breathes out a long breath.

“I guess you can’t help how you feel.”

Keiji bites his lip.

Bokuto sniffles. “But that’s how I feel.”

Keiji closes his eyes. “I understand, Bokuto-san,” he says.

“Thanks for earlier, though.”

Keiji manages to peek at him. He looks a lot like he’d like to say more, but minute after minute passes, and he doesn’t, so instead Keiji murmurs, “Don’t worry about it, Bokuto-san.”

-X-

All through the next day, Keiji is so fixated on trying to identify markers of Bokuto’s still lingering bad mood that he almost fails to catch Kuroo on his way out of dinner, but he grabs his elbow just in time. 

“Could I… speak to you, Kuroo-san?” Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “Alone.”

“Sure,” Kuroo says, following after Keiji as Keiji leads him as far from Bokuto’s curious, painfully hopeful gaze as possible.

Keiji turns, just about to say something, when Kuroo leans forward and kisses him square on the lips.

Keiji slaps him before his brain has time to catch up, and Kuroo stumbles back, waving his hands in a panic. “Oh gods,” he wheezes. “Was that not… were we not… oh gods, I am  _ so  _ sorry.”

“ _ What _ on  _ earth _ are you doing?” Keiji asks, glaring at Kuroo, who somehow looks several centimeters smaller just from sheer terror.

“Ok, look I just thought… y’know, there was some… like… uh… sexual tension? Here?” He gestures between them. 

“No,” Keiji says, his voice coming out toneless despite the fact that he’s angry.

“Just tension?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“I’m so… so sorry…” Kuroo says, backing away. “I was gonna ask, but that felt weirder because it’s not like I’m asking you out ‘cause I’ve got Kenma and you’re clearly into Bokuto but I just figured maybe if you were up for it we could like… make out, because I mean…” He chuckles, babbling more and more sloppily as Keiji’s glare gets more and more bewildered. “... I don’t know about you but I like to go into things knowing what I’m doing and oh gods when I kiss Kenma if I’m  _ bad _ at it he’ll just  _ tell _ me, he’s  _ brutal _ and…”

“Please stop,” Keiji says. “I get it now. You’re a loser.”

Kuroo deflates, going silent within a fraction of a second. “You’re brutal too,” he says with a small sniffle.

“I apologize,” Keiji sighs. “I misjudged you. You come off as much more… smug.”

“I am also that,” Kuroo says, with another sniffle.  “But come on. I’m a nice guy!” Keiji gives him a look. “Honest!”

“How did you know about my feelings for Bokuto-san?” Keiji asks.

Kuroo cocks his head. “Super obvious, bro.”

Keiji can feel himself blushing. “Really?”

“Oh yeah.”

Keiji rubs his hand over his face. “If you tell me what gave it away, then… I… would not be averse to… um…” He’s blushing even worse now.

“Making out?” Kuroo says, cocky grin back already.

Keiji groans, pushing his face away. “Don’t look at me like that when you were babbling in a panic ten seconds ago.”

“Sorry,” Kuroo mumbles into his hand.

-X-

Kissing Kuroo is awkward and ridiculous, but Keiji has to admit he agrees with Kuroo. He’d much rather get past all the awkward negotiating about noses  _ now _ instead of on a date, when it really matters.

Not to mention now that he sees Kuroo’s awkwardness beside his calculating nature, he can see that there’s a bit of common ground in their sense of humor that makes it easy for them to poke fun at each other over the worst of the kisses. Kuroo laughs at him for being too slobbery, Keiji takes great joy in nagging Kuroo over using his teeth.

Once they’ve finally managed to get in a good, long kiss, sprawled on top of a mop they’d knocked over while trying to kick each other over their respective teasing, they end up sitting side by side for a while.

“Let’s never talk about this again,” Keiji says after a while. 

“Aw, come on,” Kuroo says. “I had fun.”

“Your company was more pleasant than I’d have thought, but kissing you was bizarre and slightly shameful.”

“You’ll do Bokuto’s ego some good,” Kuroo chuckles.

Keiji is quiet. “He’s not arrogant,” he says. “If we’re going to be… on good terms…”

“Would it hurt that much to say friends?” Kuroo teases.

Keiji glares at him. “ _ On good terms.  _ Then you have to understand Bokuto-san well enough not to hurt him.”

Kuroo stares at him. “Look, I don’t understand him half as well as I want, and I’m willing to bet you understand him a lot more than me, but I know he’s more complicated than he looks.”

Keiji looks at his hands.

“But he responds well to teasing, so long as you don’t take it too far,” Kuroo says. “And he’s a tough cookie, too.” He punches Keiji gently on his shoulder. “You start treating him like he’s fragile, you’ll only hurt him, but given how you picked him back up yesterday, you already know that.”

Keiji narrows his eyes, cocking his head at Kuroo slightly.

“What?” Kuroo says.

“I want to know everything you know about Bokuto-san,” Keiji says. “What do you want in exchange?”

Kuroo looks him up and down. “Well, if you hadn’t offered I would have done it for free,” he says with a grin. Keiji rolls his eyes, but Kuroo is already looking at his hands, tapping his index fingers together nervously. He really is very lame. “Would you listen to my plan for confessing to Kenma? I’ve been planning it for a while and it’s gotta be perfect and I don’t know who else to talk to without it getting back to him and…”

Keiji stares him as he babbles, then rolls his eyes again. “Sure. We can meet after dinner tomorrow and gossip like little girls.”

Kuroo pinches him. 

-X-

Kuroo joins him for breakfast with a cheery grin, but Keiji’s eyes keep returning to Kenma, sitting in a corner and glaring daggers at Keiji over his game.

“Good morning, Akaashi!” Kuroo chirps.

“Why is Kozume-san glaring at me?” Keiji asks.

“Huh? Oh, he figured out we were making out last night.”

“Is he going to kill me?” 

“Probably. Anyway…”

Bokuto hops into the seat across from them with a dangerous and deafening clatter that leaves Keiji’s heart beating far too fast. Another half a second and he might have leapt over the table to try to catch Bokuto, but Bokuto steadies his chair, if not his arms, and sits down, wriggling even as he does. “Are you guys friends now?” he asks, loudly.

“Yes,” Kuroo says, wriggling his eyebrows at Keiji, knowing full well Keiji can’t back down now.

Keiji glares at him, but he grits out a reluctant, “I guess.”

Bokuto stomps his feet happily, quivering with excitement. “This is gonna be great, now we can practice so much and and and we can hang out and I can talk to you both and sorry sorry I’m shutting up.” He puts his hands over his mouth, leaning his chin on the table, eyes sparkling at both of them.

Kuroo laughs. “You’re easy to please, you dumb bird.”

Bokuto’s eyes just twinkle at him.

“I’m going to get more food,” Keiji sighs, because he’s sure even Bokuto can hear the butterflies in his stomach right now. Unfortunately, when he stands up, it opens him up to Bokuto shooting out of his seat and wrapping his warm, large arms around Keiji and crushing him to his chest. “Thanks, Aghaashi!” he cries.

Over his shoulder, Keiji can see Kuroo mouthing R.I.P. and giving him a thumbs up.

He’s right. Keiji is in  _ way _ deeper than he’d planned to be, but he can’t bring himself to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week (wow I almost have a plan): We learn a little more about Jiro.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shamefully unedited because there's too many mentions of pee for my fragile brain. (But like... it should not be a problem for you guys unless, like me, you have a specific hang up over such things)
> 
> However, warnings for mentions of chronic illness. Involving urine. Blergjkfjsdlkghdf.

Akaashi looks tired and cross this morning, and Koutarou isn’t sure how to approach that. “Morning?” he tries.

Akaashi yawns, looking at him for a few seconds before saying, “Good morning, Bokuto-san.”

“Bad night?”

“Homework,” Akaashi says.

“Oh.” Koutarou shifts awkwardly. Akaashi doesn’t seem like the kind of person to struggle with homework. Maybe he was busy with something else before getting to it? Was he hanging out with other people? Akaaashi’s probably popular, given his cool demeanor and good looks. 

“I don’t suppose you’re any good at algebra, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi says with a large yawn. “My mother is going to kill me if I don’t get better at it by the time exams roll around.”

“I’m great at algebra!” Koutarou cries, earning a loud ssssh from someone in the crowd. His mouth snaps shut, a queasy feeling rising in his gut. Akaashi turns to glare at whoever had said it, but Koutarou already feels lousy.

“Would you be willing to tutor me after practice sometime?” Akaashi asks.

Koutarou shrugs. “I’unno how well I can ‘splain,” he mutters. 

Akaashi leans in subtly so he can hear Koutarou, but he keeps talking as though nothing has happened. “Really, anything would help,” he says. “Even if you just showed me how to do my homework.”

“Ok,” Koutarou says. “Oh, you could come over to my place?” He frowns. “But I gotta talk it over with my mom.” There’s never any way to tell how Aiza will react to having people over. She might be glad he’s socializing or panic because they house isn’t clean enough or because she feels on the spot. The only safe way to do it is to give her a few day’s notice and hope for the best.

Akaashi searches his face for a moment, then says, “Would it be better if we went to my place?”

“Nono it’s fine!” Koutarou says, waving his hands. “I’ll take care of it.”

Akaashi nods. “Alright, Bokuto-san, thank you.”

-X-

Koutarou ends up practice for so long that he ends up barely getting home for dinner. The smell of chicken tinola is in the air and Aiza and Koutarou’s father are talking about some sci-fi movie they’d watched while Koutarou was at practice. Koutarou dishes out dinner for himself and sits next to Jiro, who is texting someone as he eats.

The chicken is saltless, but the shaker is across the table. He points at it, and his father looks up. “What do you need? A napkin?” Koutarou shakes his head. “Knife?”

Jiro hands him the salt shaker.

“Us Earthlings don’t have your telepathy, sweetface,” Aiza sighs.

“Jiro understands me,” Koutarou says.

Jiro doesn’t react, texting under the table instead.

“Uh,” Koutarou starts. “Akaashi needs help with his math homework. Can he come over sometime after practice?”

“You’re already at practice all day and you’ve got your own homework to do,” Aiza says, seeming concerned already. And Koutarou had really thought he’d been careful this time.

“What about the weekend?”

“I’m just worried about you keeping up with your classes.”

“The weekend is fine.”

“Did you have an essay to write? When are you going to write that?”

“That’s why I said the weekend.”

“I mean if you really want, I…”

“It’s  _ fine _ ,” Koutarou says, cringing at how loud it had home out.

“You’re sure?” Aiza asks, chewing at her nail.

“Yes.”

“Well I don’t mind if he comes over at all, I just want you to be alright.”

“Ok,” Koutarou says, rummaging around for his phone so he can text Akaashi that he can come over on Saturday and how to get to their house. 

“Does he want to eat here?” Aiza asks.

“I don’t know,” Koutarou says.

“Well, I need to know how to prepare.”

Koutarou sighs. “I guess? He eats a lot, though.”

Aiza sighs. “Another big eater. Fine.”

He’s not sure how frustrated that  _ fine _ is supposed to sound, but Jiro isn’t rolling his eyes, so it’s probably actually fine.

“And clean your room.”

-X-

Not two hours before Akaashi is set to come over, Koutarou finds that, like every time he does anything new with Akaashi, they have once again stumbled onto the worst case scenario.

There’s a large orange jug in the fridge, isolated from all the food. He stares at it, and it seems to stare back.

“Don’t keep the fridge open for so long,” Aiza scolds.

Koutarou closes the fridge. “Jiro’s collecting today?” he asks, his throat feeling tight.

“Yes,” Aiza says.

Koutarou leans his forehead against the fridge and breathes out a shaky breath. 

The most attractive boy in school, who is incidentally somehow friends with him for some reason, is coming over to his house in two hours and there is a jar of pee in the fridge.

“You don’t have to tell Akaashi about it,” Aiza says.

“I’ll know!” Koutarou cries.

“Do you want us to hide it?” she asks.

“I’ll still know!”

“Well, you know it’s nothing strange. We do this all the time. It’s just medical thing, just like his medication or a diabetes test.” 

“But it’s… it’s…”

“Sweetface, it’s fine. If it bothers you, you can explain what it’s for, but if you don’t want to, you just don’t tell him.”

Koutarou swallows hard, but still can’t bring himself to tell her that he is  _ physically _ incapable of telling Akaashi about anything related to pee. “Ok,” he says. “Ok.” He can feel his eyes watering already.

“Hey,” she says. “It’s ok. Come here, sweetface.”

He drags himself into the chair beside hers. 

“Do you want me to set up the chairs on the porch? Then he doesn’t even have to be inside and he definitely won’t look in the fridge.”

“That’s not the point,” Koutarou sniffles.

“Ah. Ok then,” she says. “What do you need, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, ok,” she says, a bit of a humorous note in her voice. “Then just sit there and calm down and I’ll bring you some fruit, huh?”

He nods, rubbing at his eyes and sniffling.

She gets up and shuffles into the kitchen, and while she’s cutting up the fruit, Koutarou’s father wanders out of his room, likely to refill his cup. “Oh,” he says, when he sees that Koutarou is crying. “What happened?”

“He didn’t know Jiro was collecting today and he’s got a friend coming over.”

“Oh, you think he’s going to think you’re weird for having a jar of pee in your fridge?” his father says, teasingly. 

Koutarou nods, reaching for a piece of strawberry.

“Tell him it’s for research,” his father suggests.

“Yeah!” Aiza says brightly. “Just tell him your brother is a mutant.”

Jiro pokes his head out. “What?”

“We’re trying to tell him how to handle the fact that he has a jar of pee in his fridge.”

“Just tell him it’s lemonade,” Jiro says. “But secret lemonade that he can’t drink.”

“There’s a label on it,” Koutarou says.

“That’s just how we’re hiding it.”

“It’s poison, because we’re a spy family and we never know when we’ll need it!”

“Why is he going to be looking in our fridge anyway?” Jiro asks.

“He’s not!” Koutarou says.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’ll know!” They’re all chuckling a little now, and that makes him chuckle and it feels less nervewracking like that.

“Well, we can’t help you with that,” his father says. “I’ll let you know when we learn how to erase parts of your brain.”

“Maybe if you just massage his head right,” Aiza suggests, and his father squeezes his head and nudges it around a few times.

“Do you still know?”

“Yes,” Koutarou says with a sniffle.

“Oh well,” his father says, ruffling his hair. “We tried.”

“It’ll be fine, sweetface,” Aiza says. “He’ll get here and you’ll have a bunch to talk about and you won’t even be thinking about it.”

“Do you want me to explain it to him?” Jiro offers.

Koutarou shakes his head.

“Ok, well, you just eat your strawberries and try not to think about it and I’ll get started on lunch.”

“Ok,” Koutarou mumbles.

-X-

By the time Koutarou hears the doorbell, he’s nothing but a bundle of nerves, and he nearly knocks over a shelf in his effort to get to the door fast enough. He wrenches it open and finds Akaashi standing there, straightfaced as ever, checking his phone.

“Good morning, Bokuto-san,” he says.

Caught halfway between a sentence that’s stuck and an attempt at a wave, Koutarou just does something odd with his arm, nearly punching Akaashi in the face.

It’s his first time seeing Akaashi out of uniform. He’s wearing faded jeans and a shirt that says “Setter dog” and his hair looks even messier than usual. He has his back slung over his shoulder lazily, and if anything, he looks hotter than ever.

“May I come in?” Akaashi asks, and Koutarou darts out of his way, gesturing wildly. Akaashi steps inside, slipping off his shoes and looking around. 

Koutarou’s house is not nearly as elegant as Akaashi’s, and he knows it. The walls are all white and undecorated. There’s a pile of physics books on the table and one of Jiro’s Lego robots on the sofa. Koutarou finds himself nervously bouncing around Akaashi as Akaashi inspects everything like it’s actually interesting.

“Ah, you must be Akaashi,” Aiza says, coming out of the kitchen. “Do you need anything? Drinks? Food? Lunch will be ready about an hour from now but I can get you a snack.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Akaashi says. He turns to Koutarou. “Perhaps we should get some work done before lunch?”

“Sure,” Koutarou says. “Um. I’m………… down the hall.” 

“Have fun. I’ll let you know when we’re eating, alright?” Aiza says.

“Ok!” Koutarou says, walking down the hall.

“You can close your door if you need privacy, I’ll just knock,” she adds.

“We’ll be fine!”

“Are you sure you don’t need snacks?”

Koutarou puts his hands on Akaashi’s shoulders and shoves him down the hall. “We’re fine.”

He shoves Akaashi into his room and sighs. 

“She seems… nice,” Akaashi says, albeit a little warily.

“Oh! Yeah, she’s great,” Koutarou says. “I don’t have people over often so I think she’s really glad to have you.”

Akaashi cocks his head.

“What?”

“You’re more fluent at home,” Akaashi says. “I…” He stops. “Nevermind.”

“What?” Koutarou asks again, suddenly burning with curiosity. He  _ hates _ when people don’t say what they want. It makes him think of all the other things people might be avoiding telling him.

“I just thought your homelife was… not very good,” Akaashi says.

“Oh,” Koutarou says. “Well. Yeah, it’s a little crazy… most of the time, but… you know. They’re my family. They’re the people closest to me. ‘Specially since we move so often.”

“You moved often?” Akaashi asks, cocking his head.

“Huh?” Koutarou says. He’s startled by the idea that Akaashi wouldn’t  _ know _ that already when it’s something so integral to Koutarou’s being, but he realizes he’s never actually mentioned it. “Oh. Oh yeah, we used to move every six months for a while.”

“For… work?” Akaashi guesses.

“No,” Koutarou says. “My mom’s just a crazy person.”

“Oh.”

Koutarou bites at his lip. “So… um, algebra?”

“Yes,” Akaashi says, but he doesn’t move, just stares at Koutarou for long enough that Koutarou is starting to worry he said something wrong. Akaashi seems to startle out of a dream, shaking his head slightly as he reaches for his bag. “We’re studying inequalities and even since we got to two variables, I’ve been quite lost.”

“Oh, yeah, they’re weird.” Quite frankly, Koutarou doesn’t like anything “directional.” It’s as though there’s some wires crossed in his brain that have him going left whenever he thinks right, and the idea of less than or more than always has him second guessing himself. Normally he’d just barrel through before he can get caught in the trap of “wait no it’s always the opposite of what I think,” but that won’t work if he’s teaching Akaashi.

Ah well. He’ll just have to hope he doesn’t make too much of a fool of himself.

He lets Akaashi take out his notebook and unfold it carefully. Akaashi’s handwriting is neat and it makes all his notes look super organized. Koutarou thinks back to his irregular, sloppy handwriting in his own notebook, always mistaking where to do page breaks or line breaks, and wishes he could be as organized as Akaashi.

“Show me some of your problems,” Koutarou says, letting Akaashi smooth out the page.

“Well, for example this one,” Akaashi murmurs. “I keep getting it wrong.”

Koutarou breathes out a long breath. “Uh. Well. Hm. Did you guys do graphic solutions?”

“Sort of,” Akaashi says. 

“Ok that might be easier,” Koutarou says. “Hold on, wait. I always forget how to do it. Gimme a pencil and I’ll try it out first.”

Akaashi digs in his bag for a pencil and lets Koutarou scribble away.

After a while, Aiza knocks on the open door. 

“It’s open,” Koutarou mumbles.

“Fine, fine, I just didn’t want to bother you,” she sighs.

“We’re only doing math.”

“Well, I know you said you didn’t want snacks but we happened to have mochi and you said Akaashi likes to eat, so I brought some anyway.”

“Thank you, Bokuto-sama,” Akaashi says, taking the bowl of mochi she extends to him. 

“Oh, just Aiza is fine,” she says.

Akaashi makes a face, but he manages a choked, “ Of course, Aiza… san.”

“Anyway, I won’t bother you,” she says, hurrying back out of the room.

Akaashi stares down at the mochi. “Would you like some… K-Bokuto-san?”

“Hm?” Koutarou mumbles, focusing on drawing the nicest, neatest parabola he’s ever drawn.

“Would you like some mochi?” Akaashi asks again.

“Oh!” Koutarou says, jerking his head up. “Yeah, thanks.” He takes one of the mochi balls in his fingers and sticks it into his mouth, holding it there while he finishes the drawing. “Ok so… you’ve got…” He finishes the mochi quickly before he continues. “You’ve got a function, right, so what’s best is if you rearrange it all so it looks like a… you know, a function, like… y equals, but with… with an inequality, um, wait, here.” 

He’d done it in his head mostly, so he has to scribble down several of the intermediate steps. Akaashi follows intently.

“The same as rearranging an inequality?” Akaashi asks.

“Yeah, except when you multiply with a negative number you’ve gotta flip the… thing. Or divide, but that’s technically the same because 1 divided by minus one is minus… nevermind, that’s not important, it’s just that… like… like on a number line, if you’ve got an inequality, and you multiply by -1, it’s like flipping it over the 0, right? So now it’s backwards?”

Akaashi blinks at him, eyes roving like he’s trying to picture it. “Oh,” he says. “That’s actually a very good explanation.”

“Really?” Koutarou asks, beaming.

“Yes. Go on.”

“Ok so, you’ve got… anyway… there’s… now you’ve got y is um… inequality something and then a function of x. You know how to graph functions that are y equals something, right?”

Akaashi nods, leaning over Koutarou’s shoulder. Koutarou realizes, suddenly, that this is the closest he’s ever been to Akaashi, and that Akaashi has very nice lashes, and for some reason, the next thought is that it’s just terrible that the first time he’s close enough to get a good look at Akaashi’s lashes, Koutarou has a jar of pee in his fridge.

And just like that, part of Koutarou’s brain alights into a very loud chorus consistently reminding him of that awful orange jar in the fridge.

“Um… anyway… um… S-so you…” Koutarou can’t focus like this. He tries to ignore the part of his brain that’s screaming, but he knows it’s not going to quiet down until he says something but Koutarou can’t imagine himself being physically capable of saying anything about a pee jar  _ out loud _ . “You can plot… plot this… and… well you gotta… uh… you gotta plot it, and that’s the… the thing, the…”

“Is everything ok, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks.

“Uh,” Koutarou mumbles. “Um.”

Akaashi waits patiently.

“D-did I tell you about my brother’s kidneys?” he finally chokes out.

Akaashi blinks at him. “No?”

“He’s got proteinuria and he’s c-coll……..ecting today,” Koutarou manages. He’s lucky that proteinuria is a word he’s said and heard a thousand times because he’s not sure he could get out any other long words right now.

“He’s got… what?” Akaashi says.

“Protein. In his urine.”

Akaashi thinks about it for a moment, as though sounding out the words in his head, and then says, “Oh.” The corner of his mouth twitches just a little. “Are you trying to tell me your brother is collecting urine today?”

“Fridge,” Koutarou says, pulling his shirt up over his face and clasping the fingers on opposite hands together. 

Akaashi is quiet for a while. “Is that… what exactly does that mean?” he asks, as though prompting Koutarou.

Koutarou finally releases his hands and tugs his shirt down. His brain feels like less of a whirlwind now that it’s out in the open, and this is a topic he’s talked about several times before, just about every time he’s asked in detail why he’s lived in all the places he’s lived in. “It’s… actually it’s just a symptom. It’s usually a sign of… you know, scary stuff, infections, but last year we found out it’s just a kind of mutation.”

“And that’s… better?” Akaashi asks.

“Oh yeah,” Koutarou says brightly. “It means he probably won’t lose his kidneys until he’s like… 50… we used to think it was, like, a couple of years before he lost it, which was way worse.”

Akaashi stares at him, looking uncharacteristically shocked, and Koutarou realizes he could have probably said it more seriously. He forgets, sometimes, what it must be like for people who didn’t grow up with death and disease looming over them at all times. For Koutarou, all this only seems scary when he really, really thinks about it.

Usually, it’s just the way things  _ are _ .

“Anyway it’s been a relief. It means he’s just gotta take care of his kidneys and take some, like, blood pressure medication to keep some of the pressure off the filtering… whatever. And he’ll be fine. Couple decades from now they can probably just print some kidneys for him or I can give him one of mine and all.”

“Oh,” Akaashi says, eyes even wider.

“So… yeah. But he needs check up every so often and… uh…”

“There’s urine in your fridge.”

“It’s in a jar, though!” Koutarou assures him.

“I… I figured that out, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says.

“Uh,” Koutarou says. “So anyway.” He turns back to the notebook. “Y-you plot your equation and then…” 

-X-

“So, you’re a setter,” Aiza says, over lunch. “Your shirt is very cute.”

“Oh,” Akaashi says, looking down at his shirt. “Thank you. And yes, I am a setter.”

“He’s already on the starting line even though he’s a first year!” Koutarou blurts.

“I believe that was because I work well with Koutarou,” Akaashi murmurs. “He’s the team’s star player, really.”

Koutarou gapes at him, feeling like he might erupt into a puddle of sunflowers.

“Wow,” Jiro says, “You’re finally important.”

“Ha _ ha _ ,” Koutarou says, sticking his tongue out at Jiro.

“Don’t be so mean to your brother,” Aiza gasps.

“Aiza, he knows I’m kidding,” Jiro sighs.

Akaashi looks between them carefully, then turns to Aiza. “May I ask where your accent is from, Aiza-san?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m from the Philippines,” she says.

“She has an accent?” Koutarou whispers to Jiro.

“Yes, Kouta, she has an accent,” Jiro groans. 

Koutarou still doesn’t hear it, but he says, “Oh,” anyway. 

“Where in the Philippines?” Akaashi asks. “My father had an uncle who lived in the country near… Cebu, I believe?”

“Oh, I’m boring, I’m from Manila. I’ve lived in cities all my life.”

“We lived in the middle of nowhere in Kohala that one year,” Jiro points out.

“We agreed we don’t talk about that year,” Koutarou’s father says. “Now we’ll have to kill Akaashi before he tells anyone our secrets.”

Akaashi blinks at him, and Koutarou worries he might take his father at least sort of seriously. “He’s kidding,” Koutarou says. “We just kind of lived in a dump.” Well, mostly. Koutarou had also called the police on his parents that year, but that’s not important.

“He’s always kidding,” Jiro says.

“Don’t tell him already,” Koutarou’s father says. “How will I make fun of him now?”

“Papaaaa,” Koutarou groans.

Akaashi smiles in that subtle, almost secretive way of his. “That’s alright, my mother makes fun of me openly all the time, Bokuto-sama.” 

“You can call me Riku.”

Akaashi looks a little like the lack of formality in this household might just have him chewing off his own hands soon enough.

“Do you have any siblings?” Aiza asks.

“Just me,” Akaashi says, shaking his head.

“Sounds nice, huh, Koutarou?”

“I  _ like _ Jiro!” Koutarou cries.

“No one understands him like I do,” Jiro says. “Who would translate for him?”

“See?”

“Oh, right, right, of course,” Aiza laughs, turning back to Akaashi. “He asked for a sister, you know. All his friends had siblings, so he put in the order for his own.”

“You wouldn’t want a sister. Little sisters are scary,” Jiro says. “Abe-kun has a little sister.” He looks at Koutarou with feigned horror. “She’s terrifying.”

“Oh, come on, she’s a sweet girl,” Aiza says.

“You haven’t seen the things I have, mother,” Jiro tells her in English.

“In  _ Japanese _ ,” Aiza scolds. “We have guests.”

“I… speak some English,” Akaashi tries.

“It’s still rude,” she sighs. “Jiro speaks Japanese  _ just fine. _ ”

Jiro rolls his eyes, stuffing his mouth with a large bite of food as sulkily as he can, as if to show his opinion of hers.

-X-

“So you’ve lived in… how many places?” Akaashi asks, as Koutarou walks him back to the station.

“Mostly just the three. Malina, Hawaii and here,” Koutarou says. “Though we’ve spent a few months in China because of my dad’s job. He works online, mostly, but sometimes he works on site. As a translator, that is. He speaks like… five languages and he can translate even more with a dictionary.” Koutarou loves talking about his family. It’s just about the easiest topic to talk about, so long as it’s the good stuff.

“And your mother?”

“She’s a physicist, but she’s just been taking adjunct jobs and working on articles mostly, since we move so much.”

Akaashi nods. “How did you get to Hawaii?”

“Oh, it’s dry and warm on Kohala coast, so it’s better for my brother’s allergies. We thought that would help his kidneys. I mean it did, because his best nephrologist was there, but… I mean…”

“Which did you like best?” 

“Uhhhh,” Koutarou says. “I don’t know. All of them? All the places have good and bad, I guess.”

Akaashi nods. “I don’t mean to pry,” he says, as they get to the station. “I’m just curious.”

“Oh, it’s fine! Once I get talking I like telling people about myself,” Koutarou says. “Outside of volleyball it’s kinda hard, you know? But it’s easy talking about my family, ‘cause right after moving people always ask and so I’ve gotten good practice telling people about where we lived and why. And I like my family.” He pauses. “Sorry, now I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

“It’s fine,” Akaashi says.

Koutarou hesitates, thinking back over what they’ve been talking about. He’s been talking about himself this whole time and never asked Akaashi about anything. Damn, now he feels selfish. “So it’s just you and your parents?”

“My mother,” Akaashi says, and there’s suddenly an awkward silence between them. 

Should Koutarou ask about his father or is that insensitive? Akaashi had asked him a lot, but he’d also called it prying. Would he be upset if Koutarou asked? Akaashi seems like a private guy.

He’s interrupted by the train pulling into the station. Akaashi turns to wave at him. “Thank you, Bokuto-san, you helped a lot. And I’m glad to have met your family.”

“Yeah! You can come over some other time too!”

Akaashi smiles and nods as he gets on the train. “I think I’d like that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* 
> 
> Anyway. Maybe next week there'll be volleyball. Who knows. Not me, I write most of these chapters on the day i have to post them.
> 
> Edit: Ok I know pee played an important part in this chapter so I brought this on myself but still... please don't comment on the pee.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agjhgklfjds sorry for the delay, this chapter did not want to get written.
> 
> I might be posting every other week until I finish a BnHA fic I wanted to write, depending on how well the next few chapters go. (I actually have, like, plans for them, so maybe they will go quickly.)

After training camp, practice speeds up, and Keiji ends up spending most of his time with Bokuto, either in extra practice so that Bokuto can somehow raise his catastrophic math grades. Bokuto isn’t always very good at explaining, but he has a very step by step approach that helps Keiji keep things straight.

Practice is going well, and at this point they’re in synch enough that when the time comes, Keiji ends up on the starting string even for their official games. He finds himself staring at the jersey, with its neat, black number 9 for several hours once he gets it with the promise of standing on the court.

Of course, his place as setter isn’t without stipulations. He needs to find as many ways to keep Bokuto as his best as possible – both to keep himself on the court and as Bokuto’s friend as well.

It’s a good thing he does his math with Bokuto, because there’s no way he’d be interested enough in doing it to stop looking through his notes. However, every time he goes over to Bokuto’s, he finds himself adding full pages of notes, and that is enough of a reward to keep him focused on his homework.

Bokuto’s entire family is mystery upon mystery, often without rules or reason. At least, Keiji finds it hard to understand them.

The youngest Bokuto is enjoyable to talk to. At first, Keiji had assumed he was about as old as Bokuto, but he’s only eleven. Keiji has never enjoyed the company of someone this much younger than him, but this eleven year old is a sharp tongued, mature boy. He takes pleasure in teasing Bokuto, who takes it with the most patience Keiji has ever seen in him. There’s a level of comfort between them Keiji is deeply envious of.

Bokuto’s father is almost a recluse, but he has an interesting sense of humor and enjoys discussing interesting topics of all kinds, including a lot of Keiji’s favorite literature. He’s read even the rarest of Keiji’s favorite books, though from the various books lying around, Keiji assumes his favorite is sci-fi. Sci-fi seems to be a common factor in the entire family, in fact.

Bokuto’s mother is the biggest mystery. Both of her children look very much like her, but neither call her mother. She’s always inviting, almost overwhelmingly so, but he can see that she has a tendency to get overly emotional, even more so than Bokuto. Given Bokuto’s occasional accounts, he wonders how stable she is when there’s no company to entertain.

Keiji has been trying to keep a log of all the places Bokuto has lived, but sometimes it seems Bokuto doesn’t always know either, especially in what seemed to be more chaotic times. There are several years he doesn’t talk about except in passing, though it doesn’t seem to be explicit secrecy, just a tendency to skip back to places and times he likes to talk about.

Though he spends more and more time with Bokuto, he finds it more and more frustrating that he has never seen Bokuto during lunch. He wonders how well Bokuto gets along with his classmates. His family doesn’t seem to be used to having his friends over, so is Keiji his best friend? Or is it only because of the tutoring?

The questions keep mounting until finally Keiji finds himself jogging towards Bokuto’s classroom so he can see where Bokuto goes to have lunch.

He doesn’t exactly mean to do it while hiding, but he wants to observe Bokuto when he doesn’t know Keiji is there for once.

He finds the 2nd years from his class milling around, and quickly finds Bokuto on the edge of a small group of students, two girls and two boys. He seems to be having a hard time keeping up with the conversation, trying to look at the speaker at all times even when the conversation is bouncing between people, but they don’t seem to realize or slow down.

To be fair, it’s hard to notice without focusing on him, since he does a good job at nodding along and smiling when everyone else does. If not for the way Keiji has been practicing the art of noticing Bokuto’s bad moods gathering, he wouldn’t be able to tell that Bokuto is having a hard time participating either.

The shorter of the girls occasionally smiles and directs a question at him as well and Keiji can see his relief in the slightest changes in his posture.

Eventually, the hallway empties and all of Bokuto’s friends end up sidling away with other 2nd years from other classes, leaving Bokuto to wander away.

Keiji ducks out of view, curious to see what he does. Bokuto hops down the stairs two at a time, and Keiji waits until he’s all the way down before darting downwards.

Unfortunately, by a strange coincidence, Komi and Konoha catch him racing down the stairs just as Keiji gets to the bottom, looking around for Bokuto. “Hey, Keiji, what’s the hurry?” Komi says.

“Nothing, I was just…”

“Are you stalking someone?” Konoha asks, noticing Keiji’s glance. He can see Bokuto’s easily recognizable hair down the hallway to the left, growing further with every moment, and he’s torn between trying to hide it and trying to escape so he can run after Bokuto before he loses him.

“Hey, is that Bokuto?” Komi says, having followed Keiji’s eyes. “Were you following him?”

“No,” Keiji says quickly.

“Wow,” Konoha says. “You are a _really_ bad liar.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keiji tries again, and this time he can also hear the slightly off tone delivery.

Suddenly, Komi grins, slapping Konoha’s arm. “Man, I _told_ you he’s got a crush,” he says.

“What? Come on, this is _not_ proof.”

“It is too! He’s trying to sneak his way into having lunch with him.”

“ _Please_ ,” Konoha says. “Keiji, c’mon, tell him he’s wrong.”

Keiji is still gathering his wits. He tries act like nothing is wrong, but he suddenly feels clammy and shaky and like he’s just plain forgotten how he usually acts. He’s out to precisely three people, and he’s not at all prepared for his teammates, people who he has to see in locker rooms every day, to know about his sexuality. “Of course not,” he manages to spit out. “I’m not gay.”

Konoha and Komi stare at him with equally horrified and amused faces. “Dude,” Konoha says. “Chill out. We don’t mind if you’re gay.”

“I’m more worried about the fact that I think you’re trying to smile,” Komi says. “That’s not at all what a smile looks like, Keiji.”

“I,” Keiji says, suddenly shaking, “Um.”

Konoha claps him on the back. “Hey, chill. Sorry we put you on the spot. I didn’t think you’d be so nervous about it.”

“Yeah, you might be our kouhai, but I feel like you’re our teacher or something, you look so serious all the time.”

“I’m not out to anyone, really,” Keiji says. “My father’s family is very traditional and I’m very used to people who I doubt would ever accept me if I said anything.”

“That’s rough,” Komi says. “But seriously, we’re fine with it. Last year one of the third years was gay, so I think any of the upper classmen who’d really be dicks about it already left. Coach and the old captain were pretty strict about not letting him get bullied off the team.”

“Saru might be a little weird about it,” Konoha adds, “but I think even he got used to it when he realized that he’s not any more attractive to gay dudes than he is to women.”

Keiji smiles. “Thank you,” he says. “That’s extremely comforting.”

“Oh, and Bokuto was real chill about it too,” Konoha says with a wink. “Reeeeal chill.”

“Bokuto-san already knows,” Keiji says.

“You confessed?” Komi blurts. “Did he _reject you?_ ”

“About my sexuality,” Keiji mutters, worried he may be blushing.

“I was gonna say,” Komi replies. “Hell, I’ve never thought about being with a guy and I think even I’d date you.”

“I wouldn’t,” Konoha says.

“Are you _blind_?”

“I like short girls. And boobs.”

“Still, dude, you don’t gotta _tell_ him.”

“It’s fine,” Keiji says. “I’m not offended. Though Konoha is certainly very attractive, I don’t think I would date him either.”

“Sweet,” Konoha says. “I’ve always wanted to ask someone if I was attractive.” He grins. “But I guess your type is someone a little beefier, huh?”

Keiji had always considered himself lucky that he would never be teased about crushes by anyone but his mother. However, now that it is happening after all, he feels strangely touched by it. It’s a gesture of acceptance that’s much more convincing than anything else could be. “That may be a factor, yes.”

Konoha and Komi laugh and clap his shoulders excitedly. “Man, sorry we interrupted your stalking,” Komi says. “But if you hurry maybe you’ll find him before the end of lunch.”

“I wasn’t stalking,” Keiji says, even though he absolutely was.

“I can’t believe you can’t lie,” Konoha says, as they steer him in the right direction and shove. “I thought you were always so brutal because you were just a dick but apparently it’s just your tragic handicap.”

“Please shut up, Konoha-san,” Keiji sighs, but he waves them goodbye as he dashes after Bokuto.

It takes a few tries, but he ends up finding Bokuto in an abandoned hallway. There’s art all over the walls, a picture of the ocean above Bokuto’s head as he eats.

Keiji hadn’t intended to reveal himself, but seeing Bokuto entirely alone, he has to at least _ask_ if it’s by choice.

He shuffles forward until he’s in sight and clears his throat.

Bokuto jumps quickly tugging his earphones out. They’re so loud Keiji can hear them from here. “How’d y…” Bokuto says, and cuts off abruptly. Keiji hopes that isn’t a sign that Keiji has made him uncomfortable.

“I saw you coming this way,” Keiji says. “I thought I’d ask if you wanted company.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says. “Um.” He looks down at his food, neatly separated piles of vegetables and meat staring back at him. “Sure, I guess.”

“You can keep listening to your music,” Keiji says, carefully sitting next to Bokuto.

“Yeah?” Bokuto asks. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Keiji says. “I’m quite alright just sitting beside you.”

“Oh.” There’s a long silence, but as Keiji unpacks his bento, Bokuto slowly slips his earphones back in. He seems fidgety for a little while, but then he starts eating again.

By the time the bell rings, he seems at ease again.

“Would you like to eat together again tomorrow?” Keiji says.

“Sure,” Bokuto says, crossing his fingers together and pushing them against each other in strange patterns. “You don’t mind that we didn’t talk?”

“Not at all,” Keiji says. “I enjoy your company even when we don’t speak.”

“Ok,” Bokuto says. He laughs a little, bouncing ahead of Keiji. “I usually feel pretty guilty about not talking to people when they’re around, but with you it feels ok.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Bokuto-san,” Keiji murmurs, and Bokuto grins back at him.

-X-

After several weeks of comparing notes and strategies, Keiji finally has to gather the courage to talk to the 3rd years about his idea. His palms are sweaty, but he stands tall as he clears his throat to get their attention.

“I have a strategy that may work for our official games,” he says. “If that’s alright.”

Tsukuda, their captain, nods. “Go ahead, Akaashi-kun.”

“I believe it may be practical to place Bokuto-san at the forefront of our strategies,” Keiji says. Bokuto blinks at him, startled by the declaration. “He has the talent for it, and it would concentrate our adversaries’ attacks on him, giving us more room to maneuver.”

Tsukuda glances at Bokuto. “You think you can handle that?” he asks.

Bokuto starts, then nods eagerly. “Of course I can!”

“You can’t lose your temper and give up in the middle, Bokuto,” Tsukuda scolds.

Keiji tries not to scowl. “Actually, though I agree you should do your best to remain calm, Bokuto-san, if we do it like this, placing the focus on Bokuto would give us the opportunity to surprise the other team if he does have a bad day. They’ll expect us to cave without Bokuto holding us up, and if we don’t, they’ll be taken aback. If anything, it will get us further ahead.”

Tsukuda raises an eyebrow.

“However, if we don’t have the element of surprise, it won’t work, so you must do your best to keep your spirits up,” Keiji tells Bokuto. He’s fairly certain Bokuto already knows this and is trying, but Keiji doesn’t want to sugarcoat things. “You’ll have a lot of responsibility like this, but in some ways it should give you a little more breathing room.”

Bokuto nods. “I won’t let you down!” he promises.

“Likewise, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says.

-X-

As Keiji had predicted, the idea of carrying the team helps Bokuto focus. He plays better, knowing people are relying on him, and though he has no problems opening up on the court, Keiji sees that either the responsibility or the team’s confidence in him has Bokuto wandering away from well practiced volleyball terms and chattering happily about his own ideas and strategies with the team. His words stumble more this way, but it doesn’t drag down the cheery, loud disposition he always here.

Keiji can’t help but be extremely proud of himself.

It does the team good as well. Though Keiji doubts any of them ever saw Bokuto as shy in the least, there’s a noticeable change in how much he really opens up. He doubts any of them can really put their finger on how he’s changed, but Bokuto’s cheerful openness is contagious. The whole team is playing better.

By the time their first official match rolls around, they’ve all but perfected the tactic of supporting Bokuto, and in turn, he’s grown into the role like he was meant for it, lifting everyone’s spirits.

Their first few matches go incredibly well. They don’t lose a single set all the way until the semifinals.

Keiji does his best to keep all the players in mind, even when passing to Bokuto the most, but he also watches Bokuto carefully during and between matches.

He’s been doing well. Besides his demeanor, his superior technique is also showing, getting better with each good match. The team has been showering him with praise, which seems to be spurring him into action even more effectively, but he’s also been pressing his left foot to the ground in odd ways when they’re between matches. Keiji isn’t certain, but he’s fairly sure it’s a sign of nervousness, and it gets worse when the others tell him how well he’s doing.

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji tries. He has to chose his words carefully. If he’s right, being severe with Bokuto will help, but if he’s wrong and Bokuto takes it badly, it could crash him. Keiji wishes it was easier to comprehend his hidden moods before they collapse into something chaotic. “Our next match is Itachiyama. They’ve been to nationals nearly every season since their third years joined, so they won’t be as easy to defeat as the last few teams.”

“Hm? Ok,” Bokuto says.

“Last set you missed several serves. Please do your best not to do that this time,” Keiji continues. “We’ll need all the points we can get.”

Everyone gawks at him.

“Hey, come on, he did fine,” Komi says, glancing at Bokuto as if he expects Bokuto to collapse into theatrical tears at any moment.

“I realize that,” Keiji says. “But there’s always room to improve. Also please don’t do a rebound unless you’re fairly certain they won’t just slam it down. I realize you’re very good at rebounds, but if you rely on them too much, you’ll lose us another several points.”

Bokuto’s slack jaw snaps up. “Well next game I’m not gonna lose us a single point!” he cries.

“That seems unreasonable,” Keiji tells him. “Just lose less than last time.”

“Akaaaashi,” Bokuto whines. “Back me up!”

Keiji glances down at his foot, which has stopped rubbing against the floor. He’s chosen well. “Don’t miss any serves,” he says. “That’s an achievable goal.”

“You watch, I’m going to have the _best_ serves _ever!_ ” Bokuto cries, pumping his fist.

“No doubt, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says.

“YES!” Bokuto shouts, punching the air with both fists and dashing off to brag to someone else about something.

Komi and Sarukui stare at him dumbly. “How the hell,” Komi asks.

Keiji shrugs. “I’ve just been paying attention,” he says. “And applying what I’ve observed.”

“Oh, you’ve been paying attention, huh?” Sarukui says, raising an eyebrow.

Keiji swallows. From what Konoha and Komi had said, Sarukui knowing about his crush might be a problem. “He is our ace,” he tries.

It turns out he needn’t have worried, because for whatever reason, Sarukui just grins. “Why didn’t you tell me our kouhai had a crush on the ace? We could have been teasing the hell out of him this whole time.”

“Please be quiet,” Keiji says weakly.

“Dude, I didn’t know you wouldn’t be weird about it,” Komi says. “Besides, it was pretty obvious anyway.”

“Oh, gods,” Keiji says.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve matured! Come on! Besides, I think we know his type, so I’m not worried. Just don’t check me out, okay?”

Any other time, Keiji would respond with as biting a response as possible, but at the moment he can’t think of anything over his mortification. “He’ll hear you,” Keiji whispers, glancing around to find Bokuto and make sure he hasn’t noticed.

“No he won’t, he’s telling the captain about his latest cutshot, which we all saw,” Komi laughs. “Man, Akaashi, I can’t believe you’re into him.”

“I’m not talking to any of you about this,” Keiji says, turning his back on them.

“Get used to it, kouhai-kun!” Sarukui shouts after him. “You’re the youngest starting player, you’ll never be free.”

Keiji doesn’t dignify that with a response.

-X-

The match with Itachiyama is over before Keiji can even hope to understand their team and come up with a strategy to counter it. They adjust to Bokuto’s crosses before Keiji can blink, and they block frighteningly well.

Somehow they claw their way through one set by the power of Bokuto’s cut shots, which compensate for the fact that his regular crosses are blocked nearly every single time, but by the third set, Itachiyama’s youngest wing spiker, a tall 1st year that’s most certainly going to be their ace next year, has gotten used to Bokuto’s style, and it’s a lost game from there on.

Oddly enough, it’s Bokuto who remains hopeful and happy all the way through, even as everyone else’s motivation is flagging, but it’s too little too late.

The sound of the last ball hitting the ground rings in Keiji’s ears well after they’ve finished packing up. Perhaps if he’d focused less on Bokuto in the middle of the game, while everyone still had enough energy, they could have worn down the other team enough for Bokuto to blow through their block towards the end when he was still energetic. Perhaps if Keiji had tried as hard to lift everyone’s spirits as Bokuto…

Bokuto slides next to him with enough force that he almost knocks both of them onto the floor, wrapping his arms around Keiji and shaking him. “You were great!” he says. “Itachiyama won nationals like… one year ago, and you went toe to toe with them in your first year! You were great!”

He slaps Keiji on the back and vanishes, dashing after Konoha to shout something aggressively supportive at him too. He messes up the words halfway through, but he manages to play it off well enough that before long he’s made everyone laugh, even through the tears that still linger.

Keiji sniffles, a smile crawling over his face.

“What do you know,” Washio mutters beside him, “he handles losing well when it’s a strong enough team, I guess.”

Keiji wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “So it would seem.”

-X-

“You’re not upset?” Keiji asks, on the bus ride back home. He can barely keep his eyes open.

“Nah,” Bokuto says, and Keiji thinks he might help Keiji lay his head on his shoulder before Keiji falls asleep, but he might have just fallen over. “We’ll win next time.”

-X-

There’s no practice the next morning, but Bokuto isn’t on the train and he isn’t in his usual spot for lunch. Keiji texts him and ends up eating with Konoha, Komi and Sarukui.

Bokuto doesn’t answer, and when Keiji doesn’t see him on the train home either, he finds himself getting off at Bokuto’s stop and wandering to his house.

He stands on Bokuto’s porch for a ridiculously long amount of time before he gathers the courage to knock, and by the time Bokuto’s mother opens the door, he worries he might puke on her out of nervousness.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” Keiji blurts out. “But Bokuto-san wasn’t answering my texts and he wasn’t on the train, so I… I was worried.” He might be too obvious, and he’s not sure he wants Bokuto’s mother to know about his feelings, not until he understands how she operates or how Bokuto might feel about knowing, but now that he’s here he can hardly turn back.

“He took a day off,” she says. “Honestly, I think schools push people far too hard, so I let him take sick days whenever he wants. They should do that anyway, especially after all those hard tournaments. What is the point of having you tire yourselves out for days and then expecting you to go right back to studying? Like any of you are paying attention when you’re still working through losing. Your mother doesn’t let you take sick days?”

“When I’m sick,” Keiji says, feeling a little like he’s just gotten very long scolding.

“Well, that’s just stupid,” she declares. “I’m sure you’re sad too. Do you want to come inside and eat something?”

“I only wanted to make sure Bokuto-san was alright,” Keiji tries.

“At least some cake? We got all of Koutarou’s favorites to cheer him up, so there’s plenty of food.”

“I…” Keiji stammers. “Very well.”

She turns around, and though she hasn’t given him explicit permission to come inside, he follows her anyway. He somehow doubts that inviting people in openly is her style.

“Koutarou!” she yells. “Your friend is here!” There’s a long silence, and she sighs, storming down the hallway. “Koutarou!”

There’s some tense whispering, and then Bokuto bounds out of his room. He looks like he’s been crying. “Oh, man, sorry, I wasn’t… my phone was muted and…” he babbles, as his mother returns to the kitchen to rummage in the fridge. “Sorry for worrying you.”

“You said you weren’t upset,” Keiji says, feeling a little betrayed.

“Well,” Koutarou says, rubbing at his neck. “Sometimes lying is sort of the best way I can tell the truth.”

Keiji stares at him. “What?”

“I am ok, just first I gotta cry it out. Or I will be after I cry it out. Or I am but also I want to cry it out. I don’t know!”

“I suppose I understand,” Keiji murmurs.

Bokuto’s mother comes back with two plates full of several types of foods. “Here, I made you both plates. Keiji, are you staying to watch movies with us?”

“We’re watching Koutarou’s favorites,” Jiro says from the hallway. “Because Koutarou has such good taste.”

“Dunston Checks In is a good movie!”

“Sure Koutarou,” Jiro says, though he’s smiling. “Sure.”

“I suppose I can stay,” Keiji mumbles. “If I’m not bothering anyone.”

Koutarou grins. “Of course not!”

“And he’s better already,” Jiro says. “Told you he wasn’t that upset.”

“You don’t have to be mean about it!” Bokuto’s mother calls from the kitchen.

“I’m not being mean about it!”

Keiji risks peeking at Bokuto. For the first time, he wonders if it will ever be possible for him to fully understand Bokuto, or if he even wants for his investigation to ever be over. The thought scares him a little. He’d been ready for a crush, but he’s starting to feel that this is soon going to be hurtling past _crush_ and into _I’ll be crushed if you don’t like me back_.

Bokuto smiles at him, the freckles on his cheeks all the more prominent for his red rimmed eyes and Keiji, suddenly, realizes that even if he is about to fall in love for real, there is very little he can or wants to do about it, and he ends up smiling right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Bokuto makes very, very big mistakes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this chapter is really, really short, but I'd basically finished off all the plot events I wanted to do, and I didn't want to cram it full of random things just for a certain length, and I really wanted the next few scenes to be out of Akaashi's POV.
> 
> Buuuuuut in exchange I will update next week as well (instead of the 2 week schedule I was considering)

“ _So_ if I practice my straights then…” Koutarou says, right about the time he notices that no one is listening anymore. He trails off.

“I’m listening,” Aiza says as she fiddles with the arm of one of the robots.

“Straights,” Koutarou says. “They’re like… like this…” He pantomimes it. “And if I… y’know, if I get good at them, then I’ll be really, really good.”

“We’re all proud of you,” Jiro mumbles from his DS.

“But I haven’t done it yet.”

Jiro sighs, looking up with a tired face. “No one has any idea what you’re talking about,” he says. “None of us even know what these moves look like.”

“You should come to my games,” Koutarou says. “And then you’d see ‘em.”

“I still don’t know what’s going on at your games,” Jiro says.

“You know I’d love to go, but I don’t want to curse you,” Aiza says. “I swear you can tell I’m there every time. Remember that time he missed a serve the _second_ I walked in?”

“Yeah,” Koutarou says.

“I was at one of your games this semester,” his father reminds him. “It was good.”

 _But then you didn’t come to the rest_ , Koutarou doesn’t say, because he knows his father was working.

“All I get from your games is that sometimes you do something and your points go up,” Jiro says. “I already know you’re good.”

Aiza whacks him over the head. “You really could go to some of your brother’s games,” she says.

“Aiza, I don’t _like_ volleyball,” Jiro says. “I can support him from here.” He gives Koutarou a pat. “We’re proud of you.”

“I lost,” Koutarou says.

“Only the last game,” Jiro says.

“But that’s always true!”

“Well,” Jiro shrugs, making a face. “I’m sure you did good.”

-X-

School is no better. Koutarou has to wait through Hitoshi’s stories about his weekend, despite the fact that he can hardly pay attention to any of it and Shinji’s complaining about his unrequited crush, even though he doesn’t really care before Uta asks about his game.

“I watched,” she says, rubbing at her hair awkwardly. “But I couldn’t really follow it. You looked really good, I don’t know how they kept blocking you.”

Koutarou reminds himself not to go into as much detail as with his family, explaining about crosses and straights and what he needs to practice, but he still looses them halfway through. Uta keeps listening, volunteering a few answers like, “Wow, that sounds like so much work!” and “Oh, you really have to think about this stuff, huh?” but beside them, Hitoshi is checking his phone and Shinji is whispering about the homework to Takiji.

They’re small gestures and he’s pretty sure they’re still trying to listen, but Koutarou’s brain is hitching with every distracted motion of theirs and he’s forgotten what he was saying. “So anyway,” he says. “Next time we’ll make it to nationals for sure.”

“I bet, man,” Hitoshi says, putting his phone away to clap Koutarou on the back.

Koutarou feels strangely heavy.

Akaashi will probably want to talk about what they’ve got to practice.

“Oh, hey, do you guys want to come over to my house this evening?” Hitoshi asks.

“Sure,” Uta says brightly.

Koutarou chews at his lip. Right now, he’s hardly in the mood to hang out, but he says no to social gatherings quite a bit. If he doesn’t say yes sometime, they’ll start forgetting to invite him more and more often. Still, he really, really doesn’t want to mess with asking Aiza about it when he hardly wants to go. “I’ve got practice until late,” he says. “And uh… homework ‘n… stuff.”

“No problem. Maybe this weekend,” Hitoshi says, and the conversation moves on quickly.

Koutarou takes to fiddling with his shoelaces.

-X-

It’s fifteen minutes into lunch and Akaashi is nowhere to be seen and none of Koutarou’s music feels right. He skips through it desperately, trying to find something that soothes the itching in either his right shoulder or somewhere in his brain, but mostly he just feels betrayed and lonely.

Akaashi shows up twenty minutes in and looks so bedraggled Koutarou can’t manage to be angry at him.

“I was ambushed,” Akaashi says, sounding utterly defeated. He hands Koutarou a decorative bag of chocolates. “I thought I rejected her gently but then she started crying.”

“Oh!” Koutarou says. “Oh, a confession.”

“Yes,” Akaashi sighs, sliding down the wall to sit next to Koutarou. “Maybe I should just come out to everyone. It would save me the humiliation of these confessions.”

“I’ve never gotten confessed to,” Koutarou murmurs.

“It’s very uncomfortable,” Akaashi says, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Gods, I don’t know what’s worse, when they put effort into it or when they don’t. When they don’t I want to tell them how to confess better and when they do I feel awful rejecting them. This one was right in the middle so I thought it was going to be alright, right up until the crying.”

Akaashi keeps talking, but Koutarou’s brain has given up. He tries to follow Akaashi’s lips to focus on the words a little better, but after a while he realizes he’s too focused on the words to make sentences out of them.

“Maybe,” he tries, “you should just tell them you’re not into girls when they confess.”

Akaashi falls silent, looking at him with a slightly amused scowl. “That is, in fact, what I just said.”

Koutarou looks at him, then down at his bento, then back. “Oh,” he says. “I wasn’t listening.”

“I know,” Akaashi says.

“Sorry,” Koutarou says.

Akaashi snorts. “It’s fine.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says. “Ok.” He waits a while, hoping to find a way to take over the conversation politely. In the end, he just blurts, “So anyway at practice today we gotta…”

“… polish up your straights,” Akaashi finishes. “Yes. I agree.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says again, sitting back against the wall and poking at his bento. “Right.”

After a moment, Akaashi glances at him, then rolls his eyes. “Go on,” he says, opening a cup of yogurt.

Koutarou bounces up. “Oh!” He puts down his chopsticks so he can gesture with his hands. “Ok, ok, so, back in the game, right, in the second set of… the… that school, the one with the blue shirts and… anyway so there there was a point where…”

It’s sort of silly to recount all the games that Akaashi was also at, but he does it anyway, and Akaashi lets him. Occasionally he interjects with his own observations, but mostly he lets Koutarou babble about each and every cross that could have been a straight, even when Koutarou has run out of things to say and is mostly just repeating himself so he has something to say.

“So… so anyway,” Koutarou says. His throat is parched and he’s starting to wish he hadn’t talked quite _this_ much. “We’ve got to practice some…”

“Crosses,” Akaashi says, nodding very seriously.

“Straights,” Koutarou corrects without thinking. Akaashi just looks at his bento. Koutarou frowns at him. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Am I, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, with as straight a face as ever.

Koutarou shoves at him. Akaashi almost smiles, but Koutarou doesn’t feel any better. “I’m being annoying,” he mutters.

“So?” Akaashi watches him, finishing the last of his noodles lazily. “I don’t mind.”

Koutarou smiles. It’s the same blatant honestly that Akaashi always uses, and in some respects it makes him feel better. Akaashi doesn’t try to lie to him, just tells him exactly what he thinks. It makes it easy for Koutarou to know he means it when he says he doesn’t mind.

He also didn’t say Koutarou _wasn’t_ being annoying, and whether Akaashi minds or not, Koutarou hates being annoying. He doesn’t exactly know how to stop, though, because he can’t just not talk about the things that are swirling in his brain.

“Oh,” Akaashi says, suddenly sitting a little straighter. “I forgot to tell you, though. I’m as eager to practice as you are, but I’m afraid we’ll have to practice tomorrow. I have to go to my grandparents’ anniversary party right after school.”

“On your mom’s side or dad’s side?”

“Otousan’s side,” Akaashi sighs. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of _remarks_ thrown about.” He stares down at his backpack. “I don’t suppose you want to come as my fake boyfriend, see if I can give my grandmother a heart attack?”

“No,” Koutarou laughs.

“We could aggressively make out in the hallway,” Akaashi says. “And pretend we’re eloping soon, in one of those strange western countries.”

“Your mom scares me too much,” Koutarou says.

“Maybe Konoha would do it,” Akaashi murmurs.

“Good luck.”

Akaashi lets out a very, very long sigh. “We should head back to class.”

“Yeah,” Koutarou says. He kind of wishes Akaashi was in his class. That would make life a lot better.

-X-

Practice is miserable without Akaashi.

He gets a lot of praise for his performance in the official matches, but no one actually gives him the sort of feedback that Akaashi does. With a little prodding, Akaashi usually tells him exactly what was good or bad or still needed work. They can _talk_ about things.

Of course, Koutarou has worn himself out with being ignored and then even more so by babbling to Akaashi, so he doesn’t really want to have a conversation but just, “You were cool, ace!” feels sort of bland.

By the time he gets home he feels lonely again.

He realizes Hitoshi and the others are probably still hanging out, but he doesn’t want to join in on that either.

Mostly he just wants to talk to Akaashi about volleyball, or maybe have Akaashi talk at him about volleyball, or maybe have Akaashi help him talk about volleyball or who knows what.

In the end, he just lays on his bed and ruminates on his loneliness while watching Youtube videos.

-X-

Akaashi is in a foul mood all through the morning train ride and practice. He talks only in clipped sentences and seems irritated by the slightest of things. When Koutarou tries to ask about last night, he only glares. After a particularly bad spike, Akaashi ends up tearing into Komi with criticism that is just toeing the line between harsh and downright cruel. After that everyone steers clear of him, and he changes and leaves quickly after practice too.

“What happened to him?” Komi asks.

“Family get-together,” Koutarou says. He wonders if Akaashi will be in a better mood during lunch or not. Will he even want to eat lunch together? Maybe it’s just because he’s been cut off by everyone _else_ a lot lately, but Koutarou finds himself strangely cross about the fact that Akaashi was the one who started having lunch with him and now he’s just going to leave Koutarou alone because he’s in a bad mood.

As much as Koutarou knows it’s not fair to think like that, the thought is hard to shake.

“Ohhh,” Komi says. “The uhhhh… y’know…” He cups one hand over the side of his mouth and whispers, “gaybashers?”

Konoha throws a towel at him. “C’mon, dude, not in front of everyone,” he whispers, pulling Komi close.

“What? I didn’t say anything about you-know-what,” Komi whispers back.

“Still, be a little more subtle about if he’s not… you know,” Konoha mutters.

“Fine, fine,” Komi says. “I guess I get it then. Still, he doesn’t have to be so damn _mean_ about it.”

“I’m sure he’ll apologize whenever he calms down,” Koutarou offers.

“Eh, I don’t care,” Komi says. “He’s a bit of an asshole. You’re a bit of a pain in the butt… we’re used to ya.”

“Why did you have to insult me too?” Koutarou whines.

Akaashi hasn’t even said he won’t eat lunch with Koutarou. It’s fine. He’ll probably show up and complain and they’ll laugh it off and it’ll be fine.

-X-

“Kouta-kun,” Uta says, because Koutarou hasn’t been listening for a while now, instead staring out the window at a bird that seems to be looking for something in the grass.

Koutarou’s head snaps back around. “Hm?”

“You want to go to the movies Saturday?” Hitoshi asks again.

“I gotta tutor Akaashi,” Koutarou says, despite the fact that Akaashi hadn’t even bothered to tell him he wasn’t eating lunch with Koutarou. Koutarou had considered that maybe he should have looked for Akaashi to cheer him up, but mostly he’s just sad and upset that Akaashi hadn’t even texted him.

 _That’s not fair to him, you know he’s having a rough time,_ he reminds himself. They’ll meet during extra practice and Koutarou will ask him what’s wrong and it’ll be fine. Koutarou just has to be patient for a little longer.

“Akaashi Keiji?” Shinji’s crush, Nobusawa Mariko, asks from the row beside them.

“Uh,” Koutarou says. “Ye…….. yeah.”

“You’re friends with him?”

“Um,” Koutarou says. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Wow,” she says, pushing her long hair behind her ear. She’s pretty, almost as pretty as Akaashi, with big brown eyes and nice, long legs. “He seems so intimidating. What’s he like?”

Koutarou, after many, many years of having a friendly demeanor and still being very, very bad talker, is pretty good at shrugging people off with gentle half answers. He knows well that right now that’s exactly what he should do, because there’s no way Akaashi wants people who are likely to confess to him to know much about him.

But the fact of the matter is that it’s been a really, really long time since someone was actually _interested_ in anything Koutarou wanted to talk about.

“He,” Koutarou says, staring at Mariko, “is _super_ interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Akaashi Keiji's mother has to remember that her son is actually a child.
> 
> Also, just in general, would you guys prefer for this fic to go on indefinitely but with less of a defined update schedule, or for it to kind of have an overall arc that ends somewhere, but with the weekly schedule? I feel like this fic would work with either of those structures and honestly after this arc, I have, like, 0 idea what I'm doing next, so if you guys have an opinion, feel free to let me know.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This chapter ended up shorter again... I have too much of an idea for whose POV I want various scenes in and it makes it hard to split up chapters evenly. Ah well.

Keiji sighs as he waits for the train to pull into the station, looking for Bokuto’s easily recognizable hair. Once he’s caught sight of it, he walks to the nearest door, waving as he shuffles past people to grab on to the handhold next to Bokuto’s hand.

“Good morning, Bokuto-san,” he says, as Bokuto wraps his earphones around his neck and mumbles a quick _morning_. “I believe I need to apologize for yesterday.”

“Ee… it’s… um… it’s fine,” Bokuto says. He seems uncomfortable, and Keiji wonders if he’s still upset that Keiji ditched him yesterday.

“I should have texted that I wasn’t in the mood to talk,” Keiji says. “I hope you weren’t too lonely during lunch yesterday?”

“D……… on’t worry about it. It’s not like you have to eat lunch with me anyway,” Bokuto says.

“If you want, you can come over after practice today,” Keiji says. “Or we could get yakiniku. I know it’s your favorite.”

“I… uh… I have plans already, actually,” Bokuto says, and he looks even more uncomfortable. Is he lying to shake off Keiji? Does he just feel bad about saying no?

“Oh,” Keiji says, stomach sinking. Whatever the case, he doesn’t like the idea that his grandparents’ offhanded remarks managed to make Bokuto uncomfortable too, however indirectly. It’s one thing for them to make Keiji miserable, another thing entirely for them to make Bokuto upset. “Should I bring anything on Saturday?” _Are we still on for Saturday_?

“Seriously, Keiji, it’s fine,” Bokuto says, shuffling his feet. He’s not looking at Keiji.

“But we’re still on for Saturday?” Keiji asks.

“If you want,” Bokuto says.

“Right.” They drift into silence, and Keiji wonders how he’ll be able to ask Bokuto exactly what it was he messed up and how to fix it.

Practice, at least, goes smoothly. Bokuto seems glad to have Keiji giving him opinions on the best and worst of his performance. Afterwards, he tugs Komi aside and bows before him. “Please forgive me for the comments I made yesterday. I was frustrated and I allowed that to slip into my commentary,” he says. “It was disrespectful and uncalled for.”

“Oh,” Komi says. “Jeez. It’s not that big a deal. Bokuto mentioned you had some… uh… family troubles.”

Keiji glances up, slowly standing. “I did,” he says. “But that doesn’t excuse cruelty.”

“To be honest, you’re always a little harsh,” Komi says, chuckling. “It’s alright. We know you don’t mean anything by it.”

There’s an awkward moment in which Keiji isn’t sure if he should apologize anymore, and they just stare at each other. “Thank you,” Keiji says finally. “I’ll try to be less harsh.”

“Nah,” Komi says. “Seriously, we like you like that.”

“Really?” Keiji asks. Somehow, he’d convinced himself that sitting at a table full of people who claim to love him but who would turn their backs if he were ever honest was fine so long as he had his mother’s support. But he’s starting to think it wasn’t quite as bearable as he’d pretended, because the idea that his teammates (friends?) would accept him no matter what hits him hard.

“Oh, crap, please don’t cry or anything, but yeah, it’s cool. You’re cool.”

“I’m not going to cry,” Keiji says. “I don’t cry easily.”

“Ok, good,” Komi says. “You just looked a little teary-eyed there for a second.”

“Not really.”

Komi sighs. “Alright, fine. Anyway, we’re good. Don’t worry about it.”

Keiji bows again. “Thank you, Komi-san.”

-X-

Bokuto is waiting for him in the usual place during lunch, and though they sit in silence more often than not, today it feels terrifying. _Are you angry? Sad? Do you not trust me anymore?_ Keiji wants to ask, but he doesn’t. Instead, he eats, and then fiddles with his backpack until the bell rings and they both have to go.

Again, practice is fine, just as usual, as though it’s the only place Bokuto can leave behind whatever makes him uncomfortable about Keiji right now.

They change in silence, and then Bokuto waves at him, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’m uh… meeting up with someone,” he says. “So I’m not……. Taking the train.”

“Right,” Keiji says, following Bokuto as he leaves the locker room. He waves as well when Bokuto takes off the other direction.

Keiji watches him even as he walks away, face unreadable.

The person waiting around the corner is a girl, with long brown hair and a colorful bracelet. Keiji doesn’t recognize her from this distance, but he can see by her motions that she’s flirting.

 _Oh_ , Keiji thinks.

Maybe Bokuto was just uncomfortable because he didn’t want to break it to Keiji that he got a girlfriend while Keiji was having a terrible day.

_Oh._

He hardly remembers the train ride, his body carrying him home on autopilot. He only realizes he’s home when the pug collides into his shin with full force, bouncing back and flopping over. “Hi,” Keiji says. “Incredibly, I am feeling more pathetic than you look today.”

The pug is unsympathetic, chewing on his pantleg absently.

Keiji puts his bag away, feeling numb.

He does his homework, he does his chores, and then lays in bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Are you alright?” his mother calls, poking her head in when she gets back from work.

“Ask me again in three business days,” he says.

She chuckles softly. “Ok. Just let me know if I have to buy your weird greens.”

“Thanks,” he mutters.

She closes his door again and lets him pull the covers over his head and wait for sleep.

-X-

Bokuto does not tell him about his new girlfriend the next day. Or the next. Or when they spend most of Saturday together. Or for the next week. Does Keiji still look too miserable to handle it? Are they just not close enough for that? Bokuto tells him lots of personal things and vice versa, why would he hold back about a girlfriend? Does he know about Keiji’s crush?

Keiji has outlined a million theories and none of them seem to make sense entirely, but all of them hurt anyway.

Somehow, he doesn’t dare ask. He doesn’t want to hear that Bokuto is dating someone from Bokuto’s lips. He doesn’t want it to become fully real, because at the moment, no matter how sure he is, it just doesn’t feel like it’s actually happening.

Not even when the girl in question is standing right in front of him.

She’s very pretty, and her soft brown hair is unmistakable. The bracelet Keiji had seen is a butterfly, and she has a very cute way of tucking her hair behind her ear.

Keiji wants to be cruel to her so badly, but instead he just asks, “May I help you?”

“Um,” she says, her voice soft and tentative in all the ways boys seem to like. “I wanted to give you this.”

She pulls an envelope from her bag and hands it to him, carefully, with both hands, in a pose he’s seen many times.

He blinks at it several times, but it doesn’t seem to go away no matter how many times he blinks.

He takes it from her gingerly, opening it slowly and pulling out the letter.

Her handwriting is neat, pretty. She lists all the things she’s liked about him, and tells about herself. Funnily, all the interests she mentions are the same as Keiji’s. Keiji’s favorite music, favorite book, favorite food.

Keiji’s stomach is doing all kinds of twists and flips.

He stares at it for a long time even after reading it all twice.

“Did you think this was subtle?” he finds himself saying.

“Huh?” she asks, seeming startled.

 _How stupid are you?_ he thinks. “First you hang out with my best friend and then mysteriously you have all the same interests as I do?” he says. His throat feels dry. He takes the letter into both hands and tears it. “Not only did you spy on me, you flirted with him to do so, so I assume you weren’t clear with him as well.” He tears it again. “You used him to lie to me, and you honestly think I would be interested in you?” He tears it a third time and lets the pieces fly into the wind. “Don’t bother trying again.”

He walks away, leaving her dumbfounded behind him, making his way quickly to where he knows Bokuto will be waiting.

Bokuto knows something is off the second he sees Keiji, because he freezes.

“Why?” Keiji croaks.

“Because I was lonely,” Bokuto says, looking at his feet. “And she wanted to listen to something I wanted to talk about.”

“So you _knew_ ,” Keiji says. “You _knew_ she was plying you for information about me and you just told her?”

“I didn’t tell her anything personal,” Bokuto murmurs, head hung.

“ _It’s all personal!_ ” Keiji cries, hands balling into fists at his sides. “I don’t talk to anyone the way I talk to you!”

Bokuto kneads at his shoe, silent.

“I always listen to you,” Keiji says, trying to take back a bit of the anger in his voice. “Isn’t that enough?”

“You listen because you like me, not because you want to hear it,” Koutarou mutters.

“And that’s not good enough?”

“ _No_ ,” Koutarou whispers, face twisting. “No, it’s _not._ ”

Keiji doesn’t understand. He wants to understand, but more than that he’s _angry_ and humiliated and soon the whole school will know him as the guy who ripped up a sweet girl’s confession and…

“She wasn’t your friend, Bokuto-san,” he says, nails digging into his palms. “She was using you, and the only thing you’ve done is humiliate the both of us. Don’t you…”

“I know!” Bokuto shouts, eyes burning as he stares at Keiji. He looks away, voice dwindling again. “I _always_ know.”

Keiji stands there, shaking, unable to say a single thing to counter that. After a moment, he turns on his heel and leaves.

He gets through his classes somehow, then goes straight home. He doesn’t want to see Bokuto any more today, not even at practice.

He’s never been so afraid that he might cry on the train, but somehow he manages to get through it with only a few odd looks for his sniffling.

He runs home from the station, dashing up the stairs and bursting inside, slamming the door behind him before he finally collapses into tears, bent over and clutching at his knees.

Even the pug seems to notice something is wrong, because it approaches with small, unsteady steps. He slides down, letting his backpack drop to the floor as he sits in a heap, picking up the pug and bawling into its fur as he hugs it tightly.

-X-

“Oh my goodness. The dishes aren’t done!” his mother calls from the kitchen. Keiji curls further into the blanket, hoping the pug’s snorting will drown her out. “Are you dying?”

When he doesn’t respond, he hears the creaking of the door. “Keiji?” She creeps closer. “You are in there, right, you didn’t just sneak out and leave the pug as a decoy?”

“I’m here,” he mumbles, poking his head out of the blanket.

“Oh,” she says, wiping his tears away with her thumb. “Oh, sweetheart, what happened?”

“Apparently,” Keiji chokes out, the tears hitting him even harder now that he’s actually talking about it. “Crushes suck.”

She lets out half a sympathetic laugh. “Oh, Keiji,” she says. “Sometimes I forget you’re only fifteen.”

He rubs at his eye, trying to swallow his sobs, but when his mother pulls him in for a hug, he loses that battle quickly, hugging her back tightly as he cries into her shoulder.

-X-

A few boxes of takeout later, with his mother’s arms around him as they laugh about cooking shows, even heartbreak feels less daunting, though he can still feel the tears drying on his face and his head hurts from the aftermath.

“You’re so tall,” his mother says. “How much smaller were you when I last held you like this?”

“I was 142.4 centimeters tall,” Keiji says. The marks to prove his point are still there on his doorframe, because as much as it hurt to see that they had never continued, painting over them would have hurt more.

She’s quiet for a while, fingers absently combing through his hair. “Oh, Keiji,” she says. “How about we both stay home tomorrow?”

“Okasan, I can’t ask you to do that,” Keiji says, sitting up.

“Oh, come on, neither of us have taken a sick day since your father died,” she says. “We can rest for one day! Let me be a real mother for once!”

“You’re always a real mother, Okasan,” Keiji sighs. “And besides, this isn’t nearly that category of upsetting…”

“Category of…” She mutters, huffing a sigh. “Keji. You’re right. You haven’t cried like this since… then! It doesn’t have to be _as_ bad for it to get to you.” She brushes his hair back. “Keiji, nothing will happen if you take a day off.”

“You say that as if youve allowed me to take sick days when I felt bad before,” Keiji says.

“Your sarcastic morning remarks do not count as genuine requests,” she says, pouting.

He scowls at her. “Which one of us is the child anyway?” he mutters.

“Please don’t revert to your strange robo-adult self just yet, I wanted to bake something for you!” she cries, waving her hands.

He sits back, sniffling. “Don’t worry, Okasan, I will be inconsolable for a while.”

“Inconsolable,” she sighs, holding his cheeks. “You’re a strange child, you know?” He sniffs at her petulantly, and she strokes his hair. “Oh, it really is unfortunate that your first try at opening up in years had you falling on your face, but…”

“Are you even trying to comfort me?” Keiji asks, pulling away from her wandering hands.

“I’m out of practice!” she snaps. “Anyway, all I want to say is that I _know_ opening up to people is hard, but please don’t use this as an excuse to crawl back into your shell.”

“I’m not a snail,” he huffs. “I plan to forgive Bokuto-san.”

She blinks at him. “Really?”

“Eventually,” Keiji says. “If I can. Or at least… I’ll make an attempt.”

“This is growing more and more uncertain,” she mutters with a tired look.

“Again,” he sighs. “How is that comforting?”

“Sorry, sorry.” She claps her hands together and bows a little. “What do you want to eat?”

-X-

“Holy crap, we thought you were dead or something!” Komi cries when Keiji finally stumbles into practice on Monday. “You could have texted one of us!”

“I assumed Bokuto-san would make my excuses for me,” Keiji says, unable to really take back any of the chill from his tone. He’s not sure he wants to.

Bokuto’s shoulders hunch as his head disappears further into his locker.

“I think he tried, but he didn’t make much sense,” Washio says.

“Hey, is it true you ripped up a girl’s confession letter and threw it in her face?” Konoha asks, getting a water bottle to the back of the head from somewhere in response.

“I’m so confused. What happened to you?” Komi says.

“To be quite honest,” Keiji says, surprised his tone remains as even as it does. “I just really didn’t want to talk to Bokuto-san. Or anyone else.”

“If you two have an issue, keep it off the court,” the captain calls.

“I intend to,” Keiji says. “Though I can’t vouch for Bokuto-san.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Komi asks, looking between the two of them with some horror.

“Sure,” Bokuto mutters, not looking at Keiji as he heads towards the court.

It’s sort of a challenge, trying to play as well as usual when neither of them will make eye contact or talk to the other, but Keiji focuses on playing logically, fairly, and Bokuto, amazingly, doesn’t fall apart or play recklessly.

Perhaps he’s already trying to make up for behaving selfishly. He seemed to understand that what he did was the wrong thing to do. Keiji does wish he’d apologize, though.

The captain pulls him aside after the game. “Akaashi-kun,” he starts.

“I know,” Keiji murmurs, bowing. “I’m doing my best not to let it interfere with the game.”

“Well,” he sighs. “You’re not playing much worse, either of you, but… it’s really not something that you could talk out with him?”

“Not just yet, no,” Keiji says. “Sorry, senpai.”

“Yeah, yeah, get up,” he sighs. “Look, you’re doing fine, just… I guess if you need anything, let me know.”

“I will,” Keiji says, though he’s not sure he means it.

-X-

“So, what’d he do?” Konoha asks during lunch. “I know it was his fault because he sent you this.” He hands Keiji a bento wrapped in a dark green wrap. “He was really quiet about it too.”

Keiji takes it from him gingerly and opens it. It’s boiled rapeseed. He stares at it, praying to every god he can think of that he doesn’t start crying in front of his upperclassmen. “Ah,” he says.

 _If you know me so well why didn’t you know how much this would hurt?_ he thinks, but he digs into the greens anyway.

“He did something very selfish,” he says, unable to look up from the bento. “And hurtful.”

“You need us to rough him up a little?” Komi asks.

“What?” Sarukui blurts. “Komi, he’s stronger than all of us.”

“Ah, if he knows he was mean to Akaashi, he’d probably let us.”

“That’s even worse!”

“It’s alright,” Keiji murmurs, shoving another mouthful of greens into his mouth. “I’ll be fine.”

“Man,” Komi says, but thankfully he doesn’t elaborate.

Once he’s finished, he closes the box again. “Would you give this back to him?” he asks.

“Should I tell him anything?” Konoha asks, looking kind of amused but also a little sympathetic.

“No,” Keiji says. “Not yet.”

“Ok,” Konoha says.

-X-

Afternoon practice goes by well, well enough that Keiji manages to summon up the courage to glance at Bokuto, just long enough that he gets his attention. “Extra practice?” he asks. “Your straights are still lousy.”

Bokuto watches him carefully, then nods. “Sure.”

“I don’t want to sabotage the team because I’m upset with you,” Keiji murmurs.

“Thanks,” Bokuto says.

It’s awkward, and they don’t stay as long as usual, but they practice for a good hour or so. Bokuto’s straights are actually looking fairly good, but Keiji doesn’t want to say so and Bokuto doesn’t ask.

On the train, Bokuto stands and Keiji sits, and they don’t look at each other.

The next day goes the same.

And the next.

And the next.

On Friday, Keiji tentatively sends a thank you for the bento through Konoha.

It’s a small step, one that doesn’t make him any more or any less sad, but at the very least it convinces him that he will, in fact, forgive Bokuto at some point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: The Spring Tournament rolls around and Keiji is still upset.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up 2.5 weeks later with Starbucks* so hey guys
> 
> Ugh, this chapter was difficult to start because I really didn't know how much detail I wanted to put into what scenes so I... yeah.
> 
> Anyway, I'm thinking I might end this fic with the next chapter and continue on with occasional drabbles when I, you know, have an idea, because I really just wanted to round it off here, while I still have some direction.

Koutarou is glad he has a walk in closet. It means he can cry without having to tell his family what’s going on, because he knows they’re going to take his side, and they’d just make him feel worse.

It’s harder to explain the constant cooking for Akaashi, because normally he hates greens. He figures the best way to handle it is to come halfway clean. He tells Aiza it’s for Akaashi, and then lies. The knowing looks that follow and how she swings back and forth between commenting on how Koutarou is trying too hard to impress “that boy” when he’s not even sure Akaashi is interested and trying to urge him into doing a lot more to impress him is just the cross he has to bear.

He apologizes to Mariko, too, though he’s so angry at her he lays in bed and imagines a thousand scenarios where he could get out all the angry things he wants to say to her.

“Get lost,” she tells him, and he’s caught between all too many emotions, none of them comprehensible.

The team keeps trying to ask what he did wrong, but Koutarou isn’t keen on blurting out even more of Akaashi’s secrets. Besides, it’s not like either of them has slowed down during practice. If anything, Koutarou is just playing harder, because the fact that Akaashi is still practicing with him is the only hope he has that they’ll ever be friends again.

He’s starting to think the sight of Akaashi sitting on the other end of the train and not looking at Koutarou is going to be burned onto his eyelids for the next fifty years.

Akaashi doesn’t talk to him at all until the Spring Tournament rolls around.

“So uh,” Komi asks, nervously looking between Akaashi and Koutarou. “Are we still putting the ace in the forefront?”

“I don’t see why not,” Akaashi says coolly, looking at his water bottle. “It was a viable strategy before, and Bokuto-san has only gotten better since.”

“Right,” Komi says nervously. “So uh… what if… you know… uh…”

Koutarou does his best to look distracted. It’s easier to make his moods look like something that should be laughed off if people are still convinced he doesn’t know about them, and he needs to be able to laugh them off more than ever.

He busies himself with running after Konoha, trying his best to ignore Komi and Akaashi whispering to each other, and Akaashi’s dull, expressionless face as he does.

-X-

Before a tournament, Koutarou never does anything but watch his favorite movies, but he can’t focus on them today. He sighs. Things are hard enough even when he heads into things calmly, but if he starts off upset, he’ll definitely crash, and he can’t count on Akaashi to fix things for him.

Thankfully, Aiza is out running errands today, leaving just Koutarou’s father in the kitchen making ramen.

Koutarou just sits and joins him, cutting some of the toppings for him as he cooks. “I did something really stupid,” he says, finally.

“Oh yeah?” he father asks, chopping onions.

“Yeah,” Koutarou says.

“Stupid how?”

“Really selfish stupid,” Koutarou says.

“I see.”

There’s a long silence, then Koutarou adds, “I told some girls a lot of stuff about Akaashi. I don’t know, I just wanted people to care about what I say.”

“Oh,” his father says, in a sympathetic laugh. “So they liked him and you were excited about telling them what they wanted to know?”

Koutarou nods. “He doesn’t like people to know a lot about him. And he doesn’t like people confessing to him either.”

“Oh, they confessed even?”

Koutarou nods again.

“So that’s what all the greens were about,” his father says, scraping the onions into a bowl and starting on the pork.

Another nod.

His father reaches for an egg. “Is it working?”

Koutarou shrugs.

“No change yet?”

Koutarou shakes his head.

“He’ll come around. He likes you.”

“I know,” Koutarou mutters. Koutarou is never sure when people like him, but with Akaashi it’s hard to miss. After all, he doesn’t put half the effort into getting to know anyone else. “I don’t think he likes me anymore, though.”

“Sure he does. You’re likeable.”

Koutarou huffs.

His father makes a teasing face. “Oh, sorry. You’re not likeable at all.”

Koutarou scowls at him.

“What? You were upset when I said you’re likeable,” his father says. “I’m just trying to help.”

“No you’re not,” Koutarou says, though he’s struggling not to smile. “You’re being mean.”

“Me? Being mean? I would _never_ …”

“Stop,” Koutarou says, laughing and crying all at once.

“Oh, hey, c’mere,” his father says, dropping the knife and rubbing his back. “You’re just going to have to kill everyone you told about him.”

“No!” Koutarou cries, struggling through the unique action of trying to sniffle while giggling.

“No? We’ll kill them then.”

“Stop it!”

The front door opens and Aiza comes into the kitchen with several bags. “Can someone help unpack the car?” She stops in the doorway. “Oh, what now?”

“He told some people sensitive information and he’s trying to work up the conviction to kill them,” his father says.

“No!”

“No?”

“Well, we can kill people or not later, but first unpack the car,” she says. “Because all the cold stuff will go bad.”

“Ok,” Koutarou says, wiping off his tears and grabbing the rest of the bags. He takes a deep breath and goes back inside.

“So why are we killing people? Again with the horrible violence…”

“He told people about Akaashi’s big secrets.”

“They weren’t big secrets! He just doesn’t like people knowing stuff about him, and then they confessed to him and it was just really humiliating for him.”

“Well, why’d you tell them?” Aiza says.

“I don’t know,” Koutarou mutters, because it’s a lot easier than all the real reasons.

“Did you apologize?”

“Sort of. I make him lunch.”

“Oh, so that’s what that’s about,” she says. “He doesn’t care?”

“He’s mad,” Koutarou says.

“Oh, come on. He’s been mad for more than a month now? That just seems…”

“Aiza!” Koutarou snaps. “I messed up, ok?”

“Ok, ok, sorry,” she says, putting her hands up. “I’m just saying.”

“Well, don’t. I was stupid, alright?”

“Alright, fine, you were stupid,” she sighs. “I guess we’ll just have to get rid of you.”

“Exchange you for a better model,” his father adds.

Koutarou snorts. “Thanks,” he says.

“He’ll get over it sometime,” Aiza says. “Just don’t mess up on volleyball because of him. I know how important it is to you, so you can’t just give up because of some boy…”

_“Aiza.”_

“Fine,” she says, lowering her head. “Ignore me, I just being a meddlesome mother anyway.” She fakes an overly kind voice, the model of Koutarou’s always pleasant but never very involved grandmother on his father’s side like she always does when she’s trying to make fun of her worries. “I’m sorry you were stupid, honey. Do you want some strawberries?”

“Yes,” he mumbles.

-X-

“Don’t fall apart,” Akaashi says, before their first game. “We’re among the best, so there’s no reason to feel inferior.”

“Alright,” Koutarou mumbles.

Akaashi stands without looking at him and runs onto the court.

Koutarou swallows the lump in his throat. He just has to focus on his straights. He can do this. He can do this. He can do this.

He’s still shaky during the first game, but it’s a good match-up, and they win two out of three.

The next game is already the semifinals, since they’ve been seeded. It’s a rougher game, but it’s going better, since Akaashi seems to be adjusting his setting more and more towards Koutarou, almost like he’s warming back up to him.

More importantly, Koutarou is just now seeing how much his straights have improved. The other team can’t touch them, and after a few of them, Koutarou is giddy in a way he’s never been. He almost doesn’t remember that Akaashi has been mad at him for a month now.

When they win, Koutarou thinks this might be the most excited he’s ever seen Akaashi. It comes down on him like a pile of bricks, but fortunately he’s got all of tonight to cry about the fact that Akaashi’s not excited with him, just beside him.

He ducks out of their meeting as fast as possible.

Not for the first time, he weeps openly on the train, trying to ignore the people staring at him.

­-X-

Finals aren’t finals for nothing, Koutarou thinks.

They’re in their fifth set and it’s a deuce. They need this one to win, but everyone’s energy is flagging.

Koutarou wipes his face with his shirt and claps Konoha on the back with a grin. “Come on, guys!” he says. “Just keep giving me sets and I’ll finish this for ya!”

Konoha chuckles, shaking his head as Koutarou slaps Washio on the back too to get a small smile on his face. Akaashi, being a first year and the one who handles the ball the most, looks the most tired, but Koutarou doesn’t think he’d appreciate being clapped on the back right now.

However, he does look at Koutarou, catching his eyes. Koutarou grins at him, and he doesn’t smile back, but he looks more ready when he looks back across the court.

They crawl forward, one point here, one point there, until finally, finally there’s an opening. Koutarou and Akaashi both see it at once, and the ball is ahead of Koutarou before he can fully register running for it.

He musters all the strength he has left and blows past the three blockers on him with a thunderous crack.

There’s a moment of silence while he tries to comprehend what’s just happened.

They’ve won. They’ve _won_.

Everyone catches up to the realization at once, and suddenly everyone is yelling and running at Koutarou. Koutarou doesn’t even know what to do with their pride but mirror it, raising a fist and yelling back at them, and then suddenly Akaashi is crashing into him, nearly knocking him over. He’s hugging so tightly Koutarou has to hold him or they’ll both fall over, because Akaashi’s feet aren’t even on the ground anymore.

The exhilaration fades, replaced by something similar but different, and they both step away from each other.

“That was… a good spike,” Akaashi says, looking awkward.

“It was a good set,” Koutarou  says, though he sort of wants to say _Right? Right? I practiced so much for it!_ It’s not time for that yet, though.

Akaashi clears his throat, then turns around and starts high fiving people.

-X-

Their celebratory dinner takes _forever_. Koutarou is getting tired, and he’s running out of things to say he hasn’t already said, and he really wants to talk to Akaashi, but Akaashi is on the other side of the room and…

Finally, Komi falls asleep and the coaches send them all on their way.

Akaashi quietly joins him as he walks. “I’m still hungry,” he says. “Do you want some mochi or something?”

Koutarou blinks at him, then nods eager.

“There’s a place over this way,” Akaashi says, and leads him forward until they get to a small shop tucked into one of the buildings.

Akaashi orders for him just like usual and then they sit down, eating silently for a good few minutes.

“I won’t say it’s alright,” Akaashi says.

Koutarou nods.

“It wasn’t, and if we’re going to be… friends… then you can’t do this again.”

Koutarou nods again. “I won’t! I……’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” Akaashi says softly.

They’re both quiet.

“My dad died stopping a mugging,” Akaashi says.

Koutarou stares at his mochi.

“It was really selfish,” Akaashi continues, swallowing. “Doing something stupid like that when you know you have a wife and a kid at home.”

Koutarou puts down his spoon as Akaashi pokes at his mochi with his own.

“I’ve never really gotten along with people very well, but I was very close with my father, so after he left me behind, I really wasn’t interested in opening up to anyone else,” Akaashi says. “At least not until you.” He puts down his own spoon, looking up at Koutarou, back straight and proud. “I would like the chance to forgive, this time.”

Koutarou stares at him, pressing his knees against his folded hands to take a little of the edge off of the severity of this situation. “I’ve called the cops on my parents before,” he says. “My dad has really bad depression, so he was too stressed to tell my mom about money problems until we had a l-lot of debt, and they got into such a big fight, I had to call the cops.”

Akaashi frowns at him.

“Also, one time I was in the hospital for a week with intestinal stuff and then for like a year I had to follow the strictest diet and it was gross and sucked.”

Akaashi blinks.

“The last year of middle school, right before we moved, I wrecked a girl’s relationship because she was the first person who’d really understood me and she used it to manipulate me into stuff, and I cared so little about her boyfriend then I still wonder if I’m just a cruel person who only pretends to be good because I’m scared of being alone.”

“What are you doing?” Akaashi asks.

“Telling you all the stuff I never tell people,” Koutarou murmurs. “I mean, there’s a lot I don’t tell people, because I can’t. But you know, once I get talking… I get so excited about being able to say things I tell people everything. But I’ve… I’ve got a few secrets.”

“Why are you telling _me?_ ” Akaashi says, looking a little horrified.

“I don’t know. So we’re even, I guess,” Koutarou says. “Or for revenge if I fuck up again.”

“I don’t want to take revenge.”

“Well, you won’t have to, because I’m not gonna fuck up again,” Koutarou says.

Akaashi stares at him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It took me a long time to remember how to forgive people.”

“It’s fine,” Koutarou says. “I was really stupid. And selfish.”

“I know it’s not enough sometimes,” Akaashi says. “But I really do enjoy hearing everything you have to say. And that you’re comfortable with me. M-More comfortable than with everybody else. And I promise I am always listening.”

Koutarou decides against mentioning that he’s noticed the notebook, but he smiles. “I know.”

Akaashi twiddles his spoon, then returns to eating. Koutarou follows suit. After a while, Akaashi looks back up. “I have no idea how to proceed after forgiving someone.”

Koutarou laughs a little too hard, but it’s a relief to be talking to Akaashi again. “I don’t know. We act like normal, I guess?”

“I always act normal,” Akaashi murmurs.

Koutarou only laughs harder.

Akaashi sighs, but he finishes off his mochi and grabs his jacket, waiting for Koutarou before he heads out.

They walk quietly to the train, but they stay close to each other, close enough that Koutarou can feel Akaashi’s shoulder brushing against his own. He stops when he sees a small, slightly hidden corner between two buildings.

He pinches Akaashi’s sleeve, tugging him over and nestling into the corner. “I figured you wouldn’t want to do this on the train,” he murmurs, then pulls Akaashi into a hug.

Akaashi stiffens at first, then wraps his arms around Koutarou’s shoulders, hiding his face in Koutarou’s shoulder. Koutarou holds him close with a hand on his back and an arm around his waist. Akaashi is huge, really, but he fits into Koutarou’s arms nicely anyway.

They stand there long enough that it’s pitch black by the time Akaashi pulls away. “We should get home,” he murmurs. “My mother will kill me.”

“Mine too,” Koutarou says, though he can’t ever really know what Aiza will do next.

They stand there for a while longer, neither of them moving towards the train. “One more minute,” Akaashi declares, hugging him again.

It ends up being five.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week (for real this time): Bokuto!!! as!!! captain!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, ok. This story takes SO long to write, I swear. Anyway, enjoy!

Keiji is having a tough time.

For one, he’s trying to scroll through his phone while starting the washing machine with a foot so he can hurry back to his room and add something to his notes.

Bokuto has been tagged in another picture with a lot of very attractive women.

Since he’s currently on vacation in Hawaii, this has been happening a lot, but now he’s surrounded by three of them, all of them tanned and flawless. One of them is wearing  a wetsuit, but the other two are in practical but revealing two piece bathing suits, and one of them is kissing Bokuto’s cheek while he grins into the camera, holding a surfboard.

Apparently, Bokuto is closer to his friends in Hawaii, though he couldn’t explain why to Keiji, other than the fact that speech is less formal in Hawaii and his friends there like a lot of the same shows as him.

Keiji would be a great deal more jealous if Bokuto didn’t keep asking him if he’s allowed to tell them certain stories about Keiji. That girl may be kissing Bokuto’s cheek, but it’s likely that she had to sit through fifty minutes of Bokuto telling her about how many rice balls Keiji can eat to get to it.

It’s hard not to feel smug about that, but he still keeps coming back to the comfortable way Bokuto leans into her, resulting in an odd mixture of jealousy and smugness and a sliver of shame.

He opens his notebook, the newest one he’s started for Bokuto, and scrawls _kisses women_ under a list currently titled ~~What Are We~~ ~~Relationship Cues???~~ ~~Are we dating or are we not~~ Relationship Cues. He scribbles that out and adds, _lets women kiss him_ , then scribbles that out, takes a deep breath, and writes _shows a degree of physical affection towards other friends that could be construed as ~~sexual~~ ~~romantic~~ beyond the boundaries of platonic affection. _

Just to comfort himself, he also adds a quick _cultural differences??_ in the margin.

His phone buzzes.

 ** _back frm movies!!!_** Bokuto writes. **_so good! watch it w me when i got back?? <3 _**

Keiji stares at it, trying to calm himself enough to scrawl _uses heart emojis with me_ in his notebook.

His mother knocks on his open door and he slams the notebook shut without enough force to send a few papers flying. He tries to act normal despite this.

She stares at him. “Keiji… are you… is that how you think real humans sit?”

“Okaasan,” he reprimands, though his voice cracks a little and he’s probably blushing.

“Just tell me when you need the sex talk, ok?” she says.

“What?!” he squeaks. “Okaasan! I am not watching porn in my notebook!”

“Maybe you’re watching it on your phone and taking porn notes,” she says casually. “I don’t know.”

“I… I am not taking porn notes!”

“Like I said, I don’t know!” she says, throwing up her hands. “But just because we’ve already had the ‘where babies come from’ talk doesn’t mean I want you do go out and have sex without knowing things, especially since…”

“Okaasan, please,” he begs. “No. I’m not… I’m… no.”

“Ok. Could you cut up some peppers for dinner?” she asks. “After you finish… whatever you were doing.”

“It’s not porn!” he yells as she slinks away, closing the door after her.

The pug, still on his bed, looks at him questioningly. “It’s not porn,” he tells it, just in case. It drools on his sock in response.

He quickly texts back **_That sounds nice,_** he texts. **_When does your flight leave tomorrow?_**

**_midnight! :( i’m gonna b so jetlagged…_ **

Keiji smiles. **_I’ll see you on the train?_**

**_yeah i might cry tho. ignore me if i start crying fr no reason!!!!_ **

Keiji laughs. There’s not a chance that will happen, but he thinks he can manage a few tears. He texts a quick goodbye and goes to help his mother with peppers.

She watches him as he chops, as though sensing the gears turning in his mind. “You’ll overheat soon if you keep at it,” she says.

He scowls at her. “You just want to give me motherly advice,” he says, popping a bit of pepper into his mouth.

“Oh, gods, do I,” she says, dropping down in the nearest chair and staring at him, her cheek on her fist.

He sighs. “I don’t know how to qualify my relationship with Bokuto-san,” he murmurs. “It seems romantic but I don’t think we’re boyfriends… I don’t know where the bounds of dating begin and end, and he is so friendly with everyone I’m not sure what it is that differentiates our relationship from other friendships he has, if anything.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” she asks, sounding slightly bored.

“No,” Keiji murmurs. “I’m not sure how to bring it up.”

“No,” she repeats. “You made a list.”

He glares at the pepper he’s slicing in half. “How does one ask their… whatever he is… ‘Are we dating?’”

“Well,” she sighs, crossing her arms and laying on them. “With your mouth, probably.”

He glares at her. “Thank you, Okaasan, your advice is always so insightful.”

She sighs. “Why _can’t_ you just ask him?” She cocks her head. “Is it a pride thing? Do you feel like you should already know so you can’t admit it?”

He frowns.

“You know, he’s sixteen too,” she says. “You don’t always have to know what you’re doing.”

He sighs, pushing the cutting board with the chopped peppers in front of her. “I suppose,” he says. “He gets back tomorrow, so we _could_ talk.” He bites his cheek. “I just don’t think he’s put much thought into… terminology.”

“Oh, so you’re not sure _he_ knows the answer either.”

Keiji stares at the peppers with a grim look. “I’m almost certain he doesn’t.”

“Then ask him if he’s ready for boyfriends,” she suggests.

“Am I?” he asks.

“Well,” she says, sitting back and letting out a long breath. “If you don’t know, maybe you don’t have to call it something just yet.”

He makes a face. “No,” he says. “No, that won’t work.”

“I suppose an ill defined emotional relationship is too much for your circuitry,” she sighs, earning tired grimace.

-X-

He finds Bokuto snoring on the train before practice and he’s glad because this way no one he knows sees the downright giddy way he leaps onto the train. He’s not sure how to wake Bokuto, so he just prods his shoulder a little.

Bokuto starts up, blinking. “Oh!” he cries, when he sees Keiji. He darts to his feet, almost lifting Keiji off his feet with the force of the hug he gives him. “It’s s-so… ack… um.. good to see you! I’m sorry I’m tired and words.”

Keiji smiles, something warm spreading through his chest. “I see,” he says, while Bokuto attempts to fall back asleep on his stomach, holding onto him tightly. He’s not sure they should be doing this in public, but he can’t bring himself to tell Bokuto that. Someone gives him an odd look and he stares them down coolly.

He prods Bokuto again before their stop and Bokuto yawns openly and hobbles off the train. He’s slouched and blinking owlishly as they walk, his hands shoved in his pockets. Keiji wasn’t sure he was ready to experiment with holding Bokuto’s hand and seeing what it yields, but he’s very annoyed by that option being entirely closed off from him.

“Could we talk about something at lunch today?” he asks, before he can think better of it.

“Mm?” Bokuto asks sleepily.

“I just want to… ask something,” Keiji says.

Bokuto yawns. “Sure, Keiji.”

Keiji looks away, stomach flip flopping as he pushes in the door to the locker room.

“Hey there ace!” Komi says, once they’re inside. “While you were gone, we voted for Captain.”

Bokuto squints at them. “Don’t I get a vote?”

Keiji frowns. He was also not included in this.

“Well, you’re free to vote,” Konoha says with a grin. “But it won’t do you any good, since we all voted pretty much the same.”

“Don’t _I_ get a vote?” Keiji asks.

“Why would you get it if I don’t?” Bokuto asks. “I’m senpai, you know.” He’s talking a little like he’s too used to English, Keiji thinks. It’s cute.

“And captain,” Washio says.

Bokuto stares. “What?” he asks.

“You’re captain!” Sarukui says. “And Akaashi is your vice.”

“Oh, good,” Keiji says. “I’m looking forward to doing all of Bokuto-san’s paperwork.”

“Hey!” Bokuto says, head whipping between the team and Keiji like he doesn’t know whether to be excited or offended. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Konoha says, shaking his shoulders. “Captain.”

“How?” Bokuto blurts.

“Good question,” Komi laughs.

“You pulled through for us,” Washio says, simply. “You took us to nationals.”

“Even though you guys were fighting!” Konoha says. “We wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t stuck it out. Besides, you’re good for team spirit, ace.”

“Does that make me 1?” Bokuto asks.

Keiji sees the crash before it happens, but not fast enough intervene before Sarukui says, “Sure!” and Bokuto promptly starts crying.

Keiji sighs, pushing aside the dumbfounded team. “You don’t _have_ to wear the number 1 jersey,” he says.

“I’m the ace,” Bokuto wails. “I gotta wear 4! I always wear 4!”

“You can wear the number 4 jersey,” Keiji says.

“What about you?” Bokuto says, wiping away tears.

“I’ll wear the number 5 jersey,” Keiji says.

“Ok,” Bokuto says, and without a second thought he starts laughing. “Wow, I’m really captain?”

Komi nods, though he looks a little like he doesn’t understand why they agreed on this. “You sure are,” he says.

“Akaashi you’re a wizard,” Konoha whispers, as Bokuto wipes off the last of the tears and then all but bounces over to the team to laugh with them as they indulgently clap him on the back.

Keiji feels a smile crawl over his face as he watches Bokuto laugh. “Not really,” he murmurs. “I just like seeing him happy.”

“Wow, did your crush get _worse_ over the break?” Konoha asks, but Keiji has already busied himself with changing.

-X-

“So what did you want to ask?” Bokuto asks, sitting beside him at lunch. He’s looked more awake since practice and Keiji thinks he brought a thermos of coffee with himself today.

Keiji stares at him. “Well,” he says. _What are we?_ he thinks. He chews on his lip. “I thought it was something important but I think it may… not be.”

“You sure?” Bokuto says, sipping at the coffee, looking at Keiji with wide eyes.

“Not really,” Keiji says. “But I think I wanted to qualify and quantify something that can’t be qualified or quantified.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bokuto says. “Should I?”

“No,” Keiji says, putting his hand over Bokuto’s to push the thermos out of the way.

Bokuto stares at him innocently, letting him push the hand down without any resistance, like he’s forgotten that hand is even his in favor of inspecting Keiji’s face.

Keiji leans forward and kisses him. His lips are chapped and his slightly hooked nose presses into Keiji’s cheek awkwardly and neither of them really knows the dynamics of a kiss but Keiji’s heart is thudding in his chest and he feels like he could run to the moon and back.

He pulls away.

“Was… that the question,” Bokuto says slowly.

“Yes,” Keiji says.

“Oh,” Bokuto says. He looks down at the thermos. “I still don’t really get what’s going on, but you have really soft lips, Aghashi.”

Akaashi smiles. “Well, at least one of us does,” he says, and Bokuto squawks until they’re both laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the last chapter, but feel free to chat with me about this fic or other hcs... it was weird posting something so personal and I was writing this during stressful times, so I didn't answer comments like I usually do, but I love talking about it (it just might take me a while to reply because I am a mess T_T).

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://dgalerab.tumblr.com/)!


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